


but i can see us, lost in the memory

by seasalttears



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, enjoy, i was listening to my "i can't believe i missed lilith fair" playlist and this was the result, it's very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasalttears/pseuds/seasalttears
Summary: She knows there doesn’t have to be any sort of pretense with Judy, she’s already seen the worst Jen has to offer. Judy probably remembers and knows more about Jen and the way she operates more than Jen would care to admit.or, murder and memories of Lilith Fair are hard to reconcile when you're in love with the person you experienced both of them with.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 55
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly do not fucking know, so don't ask. i just get in my feels and write, and you all get to read the result. this will be more than one chapter, but please do not ask how many there will be—i literally couldn't tell you. just enjoy the gay, ladies. you're gonna be in for a fucking ride.

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

Jen dries the tears on her face and dabs under her eyes to wipe away any mascara. She takes a deep breath and releases it, trying to prepare herself for the experience she is about to endure. It takes every ounce of determination she has to step out of the car and force herself towards the designated… grief area. Friends of Heaven sounds like a fucking commune, if you ask her. When Chris initially suggested a grief group, she scoffed— _I don’t need to go to therapy, especially the kind with more than one person complaining about how miserable their life is. I already have to deal with my own._

And yet, here she is. There are people sitting in a circle waiting for the session to start, a couple of empty chairs left, and Jen sits down while trying to avoid eye contact. She doesn’t want to be here, but she thinks she should probably do something to deal with whatever it is going on inside her; this is probably as close as she’ll ever get to actual therapy. Who knows? Maybe she’ll get something out of this. Probably not, but maybe. She pulls out her phone to pretend she’s doing something important so no one will try and engage her in conversation, as if her sunglasses don’t provide enough anonymity.

She’s pulled out of her reverie a few minutes later by the session starting. “Hello everyone, I’m Pastor Wayne. Thank you for joining us here at Friends of Heaven. I see we have some new faces, would anyone like to introduce themselves?”

“Um, hello everyone,” a woman begins, and Jen rips off her sunglasses and turns her head to the side so quickly it gives her a crick in her neck. She knows that voice, even after all this time. “My name is Judy.”

_Fuck_ , it really is her, in all her floral print glory. “Judy Hale? What the fuck are you doing here?” Jen doesn’t even realize she spoke out loud until Judy’s eyes find hers and widen in surprise.

“Jen? What are _you_ doing here?”

Pastor Wayne cuts in, “I believe you’re both here for similar reasons. Do you two know each other from somewhere?”

“Um, we…” Judy trails off, not sure what to say or how to even begin explaining just how much her and Jen know each other.

“We knew each other a long time ago, when we were young.” Judy glances at her, and if Jen notices a flicker of hurt, she ignores it. Instead, she focuses back on Pastor Wayne and waves a hand to signal him to continue.

“Would either of you like to share what brought you here?”

Jen shakes her head but Judy starts speaking, “I lost my fiancé. Well, that makes it sound like he’s dead, but he’s not. We broke up after I suffered from a few… a few miscarriages. And it’s been hard, losing so much in so little time. I’m not even sure I have a right to be here, since I didn’t actually lose anyone.”

“I think you do. That’s hard. You deserve to be here,” and Jen doesn’t know why she feels that in her bones.

“Yes Jen, I agree. Judy, that must be very hard on you, thank you for sharing. Anyone else?” Jen shakes her head again and looks away. She’s overwhelmed and she doesn’t know what’s going to come out of her mouth if she opens it. “Let’s get started then, shall we? Today we’re talking about the ‘f’ word… _forgiveness_. We need to let go of our anger and learn to forgive those around us.”

Jen can’t stop her mouth from opening this time, too much rage festering inside her to keep quiet. It was going to happen at one point or another. “Well, what if someone hit your husband with their car, and then left him on the side of the road to die? Huh? How do you forgive that? I can’t even fucking sleep at night because I just have this image playing over and over in my head of someone hitting my husband on the bend in Clove Street and just fucking _leaving_ him there while he bled out. How do you expect me to forgive that?”

The silence that falls over the group has a sound, a quiet hush that Jen despises. She’s grateful for Pastor Wayne when he nods and cuts through it. “That is definitely hard to forgive, and a very heavy thing to deal with. I think you ultimately have to find the strength it takes to give that kind of forgiveness to someone. Peace will not come with justice, that is something you must find yourself through healing and working through these emotions you’re experiencing…”

Jen shakes her head and starts to tune out Pastor Wayne, but catches Judy’s eye. She looks sad, almost. Like she can’t believe what Jen’s life has come to—how much has changed since the last time they saw each other.

The rest of the session goes by in a blur.

“Jen, wait!”

Jen turns around to see Judy catching up to her, and Jen doesn’t really know if she can handle this interaction right now. Not like she really has a choice. Judy Hale is in front of her and smiling like they didn’t just talk about their grief with a group full of other strangers for the past hour.

“Um, hi.”

Judy holds out a small piece of paper and shrugs her shoulders, looking slightly insecure. “Here’s my number. I figured you could give me a call if you ever want to catch up or… not sleep together.” Jen cringes at the words, memories from the past surfacing instantly. Summer sun, Judy’s carefree laugh, twisted bedsheets. Judy notices the double meaning of her words and hurries to correct herself, “I mean, I just have a hard time falling asleep sometimes, too.”

Jen hesitantly takes the paper and gives Judy a small smile. More of a grimace, actually. Jen turns around and continues walking back to her car. She’s not going to call. She swears to fucking God she will _not_ call Judy fucking Hale.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me. Jen.”

Jen is sitting on her bed, lights on, clock reading 12:06 am. She’s been trying to fall asleep for hours, but her mind won’t shut up. She contemplated calling Judy for twenty minutes before she finally decided to get over herself and just… reach out. Go out on a limb. Offer an olive branch. It’s the least she could do after what happened—but she’s not going to think about that, because right now she needs to figure out if calling Judy was actually a very big mistake.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t think you’d call.”

“Yeah, neither did I.”

“This is kind of bizarre, right?”

Jen nods before realizing Judy can’t see her, “Most definitely. I honestly thought I’d never see you again.”

“Yeah.” An awkward silence barely has time to settle in before Judy steers the conversation towards something less depressing. “What are you wearing?”

“Huh?”

“What are you _wearing_?”

“Um, my husband’s sweatpants and a t-shirt he got for running a 5k for… psoriasis.”

“Mm. Slower.”

Jen chuckles and shakes her head, “You are still, so fucking weird.”

“Absolutely nothing about me has changed. So, did your husband like running or did he just hate psoriasis?” Jen hesitates before replying. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s fine. He liked to run, but didn’t get into it until he was about forty, though. He was getting a little doughy.”

“Doughy?”

“Yeah, like full on beer gut. Beer _neck_ , even.”

“Well, that is certainly a valid reason to start running. What was his name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jen’s not really sure if she wants to tell Judy, but there’s really no avoiding it. “… Ted. I married Ted.”

“Oh. That’s great! Well, maybe not so great now… fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Judy, it’s fine. I know it’s weird.”

“You can say that again.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. Or him. Or anything. I’m not even sure why I called.”

“You must have called me for a reason, so might as well talk, right? We can keep talking about Ted if you want to, I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Jen smiles. She’s not sure what the universe is trying to tell her by plopping Judy back into her life, but she’s not hating it. Maybe it _was_ a mistake to call Judy and offer her a way back into Jen’s life, but Jen isn’t sure if she cares anymore. She’s tired of being alone, and it’s nice to talk to someone about things and… feelings. She knows there doesn’t have to be any sort of pretense with Judy, she’s already seen the worst Jen has to offer. Judy probably remembers and knows more about Jen and the way she operates more than Jen would care to admit.

But for now, she’s going to enjoy this phone call.

“How did I not know _The Facts of Life_ was on every night?”

“I don’t know, but it’s so good.”

“ _So_ good.”

They’re sitting on the couch in Jen’s outside living room, wine glasses in hand. There’s a socially acceptable modicum of space between them because Jen feels tingly whenever Judy gets too close. Not a good sign.

She thinks it’s a bit unusual, though, how much time they’ve been spending together lately; Jen thought that first phone call would be more of a one-off thing, and they would just see each other at group while staying amicable. She never thought Judy would become a source of comfort in such a small amount of time, but history tends to repeat itself.

“I still stand by the fact that you’re a little Blair-y.”

“Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you. We both know I’m a fucking Jo.”

“Just because you’re from Brooklyn does not mean you’re a Jo.”

“How many times are we going to argue about this? I’m _tough_.”

“Whatever you say… Hey, I just realized you lost your accent!”

“Oh yeah, that happened years ago.”

“I can’t even remember what it used to sound like.”

Jen rolls her eyes, she’s not going to fall for it. “Like someone from Brooklyn.”

“Like what?”

Jen grins, and fuck, she can’t say no. It’s going to put a smile on Judy’s face and she’s never been able to resist that. “… _like this_.”

They laugh at the absurdity of the moment; the memory of Jen’s outrageous accent and the idea that they could still be here, twenty odd years later, and laughing about the same things they used to. Judy perks up after the laughter dies down and smirks at Jen.

“Would the boys be okay if we left?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I have an idea.”

And that’s how they end up at the beach in the middle of the night while Judy pulls out a joint; Jen panics a little at first—but then remembers it’s legal now. She watches while Judy lights it and takes a hit, exhaling slowly, and can’t help but watch the way Judy’s mouth moves… delicately and with purpose. Jen’s not a jealous person, but she finds herself wanting to be the smoke in Judy’s mouth—filling her up with some sort of peace.

Judy holds the joint out to Jen in offer, but Jen waves it away. “Oh, no. I don’t really do that stuff anymore.”

Judy tilts her head in disbelief. “Come on, it’ll help you sleep. And for old time’s sake.”

_Fuck it_. Jen takes a hit and immediately feels it, like a wave of long-lost relaxation taking over her. They sit in silence for a few minutes, passing the joint back and forth while watching the tide ebb and flow. Jen wishes she could live in that kind of tranquility.

“Thank you.” Jen doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but her tongue is loose and weed has always had a way of making her feel vulnerable.

Judy looks over at her, confused by the declaration. “For what?”

“I don’t know, for coming back into my life I guess, like the weird little pot fairy you are. I know it’s kind of strange to reconnect, especially under these circumstances. But still, thank you.”

“Thank _you_ , for the same.”

“I know it must be hard, to have lost all of that.” Jen looks back at Judy and sees the smile in her eyes dull a little bit.

“Yeah, it is.”

Jen nods in understanding, but Judy’s sadness has always been hard for her to look at. Judy is someone that fills up the room, every crack and corner touched by the light she emits—but when Judy’s sad, it disappears, and Jen feels cold. So she tries to lighten the mood. “Do you want me to kill Steve for you? He sounds like a real asshole, I don’t mind.”

It does the trick and Judy chuckles. “No, but thank you for the offer.”

Jen smiles at her, lost in the weight of this moment. She can’t recall the last time her and Judy smoked together, but it probably looked a little something like this: chemical, a frequent undercurrent of heat that is always threatening to mix with the oxygen surrounding them. It’s always felt like they were just biding their time until they combusted.

“Lights out.” Jen is grateful the spark of this reminiscent night is no longer there to threaten the explosion she’s always waiting for.

“You probably shouldn’t have anymore anyways, it’s been awhile.”

Jen starts giggling at the absurdity of it all; this moment, Judy, the memories of a never forgotten summer sitting between them unspoken. “Why did you give that to me?”

Judy outright laughs and shakes her head, “You are so fucking high.”

“Oh god, I think I just peed. Wait, wait! I have to check.” Jen reaches between her legs. “No, I didn’t! I didn’t pee, don’t worry.”

A couple of weeks pass, and Jen feels like she’s in a fucking movie montage. Her days blur together between grief and work and the boys, but her one constant is Judy. If they aren’t drinking together on Jen’s patio, they’re spending hours on the phone together. Every night. Jen forgot how nice it was to have a friend. Sure, it’s kind of weird that it’s Judy of all people, but Jen isn’t going to cut off the one person who seems to actually _get_ her in years. The one person who actually listens to her, and makes her feel seen or some shit like that. Judy makes Jen feel like a human being, like she’s someone who is allowed to fuck up and allowed to be angry and hurt and want to punch something ( _as long as it’s not directed at someone else!_ ). Jen doesn’t like grieving around other people—she prefers to keep it close to her chest and locked up tight—but Judy seems to be the one exception. There’s no pretense, there’s no hesitation, Jen willfully opens herself up. It does makes sense though; Judy helped her with her first round of grief, and now she’s helping with the second. Jen isn’t sure what kind of psychic bullshit is responsible for that, but she can’t complain. It’s nice.

Her and Judy are sitting on the pool chairs tonight, leaning all the way back so they can look at up at the stars, blankets pulled up high on their bodies to block out the slight breeze. The world is still tonight, like it knew they needed a few moments alone.

“Look, Orion is really bright tonight.” Judy points up and to the left as Jen tries to figure out where she’s supposed to be looking. 

“Which one is that again?”

Instead of responding, Judy just giggles and shakes her head. Jen feels warm whenever Judy laughs, and _fuck_ if she doesn’t know what that means. She can’t let that happen again though, so she pushes all of that way, deep down. She knows better, and Judy has become something precious to Jen. And it’s not like Jen didn’t know Judy was special before, but now it feels like Judy’s presence is sanctified or some shit.

“Do you think we’ll ever talk about what happened?”

Jen is caught off guard, and she feels her walls go up. “No. I don’t know.” She answered too quickly, and she winces at the unintended bite in her response. 

“Don’t you think we should?”

“Probably, but we both know I’ve never been good at talking about stuff.”

“You can be.”

Jen looks over at Judy, her face barely visible in the moonlight. She _does_ looks sacred. Jen sighs and looks back at the stars as Judy continues, “Look, I love spending time with you. I really do. But don’t you feel the weird energy around us? I just want to clear the air, get rid of the bad vibes.”

“Judy, I don’t know what that means, A. And I’m fine. I’ve worked through what happened and I’m past it. 1997 was a long time ago, and I don’t want to talk about it because I… I don’t want to ruin this. I really needed a friend.”

Judy stares at her for a second before a smile flashes in her eyes. “See, you _can_ talk about your feelings.”

“Shut up. Come here.”

Jen holds out her arm and beckons Judy over. It takes some wiggling but they finally manage to find a way for them to lay side by side on the same chair, and Jen feels a little more whole. She pulls Judy closer and inhales the scent that seems to follow her, something akin to familiarity. Maybe something like home. It strikes a thought in Jen’s mind. “Why don’t we ever hang out at your place? You always come to mine.”

She feels Judy stiffen a bit before relaxing again. “Oh, um. You wouldn’t like it, very small.”

“I don’t care if you live in a small ass apartment, Judy. I may be an asshole but I’m not _that_ kind of asshole.”

“It’s just, I don’t necessarily live in an apartment, per se.”

“What, do you live in a fucking commune?”

“Not exactly.” Jen looks down and raises her eyebrows, a question in her eyes, as Judy glances up from where her head is nestled into the crook of Jen’s shoulder. “I’m kind of in between places right now. I didn’t really have anywhere to go after I moved out of the house with Steve, so my boss let me stay in an empty room.”

“Wait, you’re living in an _old person’s home_ —”

“It’s an _assisted living facility_ , Jen—”

“—why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Judy, come stay with me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you can stay in the guesthouse. It was Ted’s studio, but obviously he’s not… using it now. You can stay in there until you find a place.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“God, Judy, _no_. I’m inviting you, and it would be really nice. Having you here.”

Jen doesn’t see it, but she knows Judy is smiling. It’s like she can feel it, the way Judy’s whole body just lights up with delight. Maybe it’s a mistake, openly inviting Judy to constantly be around and make herself comfortable in Jen’s space. She knows what can happen when her and Judy are confined together, when the air around them is eliminated and constantly charged. But they’re adults now, they’ve lived outside of each other before and they can do it again.

Well, she hopes they can.

When Judy comes over the next day after picking up a few things from storage, she seems nervous—like she’s full of anxiety—and Jen can’t figure out why. Is it because she’s apprehensive about moving in while they still haven’t really acknowledged anything that happened between them? Even then, Jen doesn’t think that would be enough to make Judy like _this_ —jumpy and smiles that don’t reach her eyes. She wants to ask Judy about it, find out if something happened, but she decides to leave it for now. It’s late and they’re both exhausted. She’ll ask her tomorrow.

**Laguna Beach, 1997**

Jen absolutely does not want to be here, in _California_ , of all fucking places. People here never seem to stop smiling, and what do they have to be so fucking happy about all the time? Like, take a fucking timeout and smoke a cigarette or something, Jesus. She’s already regretting the decision to come here, and _yeah_ , it was ultimately her decision, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. It was this, or spending an entire summer at home and trying not to listen to her dad’s muffled sobs through his bedroom door at night and silent dinners that only serve to piss her off. Even sunny fucking California is easier to deal with than that.

And yeah, she’s spending most of the summer with Ted, which is… cool. He goes home for a month every summer to visit his mom, which is kind of gross. Jen has met Lorna once, and it was more than enough. She honestly can’t believe she agreed to spend this much time in her presence, or that Lorna approved of her coming. Jen thinks she’s going to try and spend as much time outside of the house as much as possible, but that also means she would have a lot of one-on-one time with Ted. He’s been weird as fuck around her ever since her mom—well, since her mom. It sucks, that one fucking thing happens and everyone in her life is suddenly nervous around her, like she’s going to burst into tears at any moment. It’s been over a year and she hates it, especially because she knows not going to. At least not around other people.

Jen’s pulled out of her thoughts when Ted opens the door to the bedroom she’s been designated to stay in and flops down onto the bed. He gives Jen an apologetic look. “Sorry my mom won’t let us sleep in the same room. Propriety and all that shit.”

“It’s fine,” and it really is. Jen is secretly grateful her and Ted won’t have to share a room or a bed so she won’t have to keep up pretenses. She’s thankful Ted invited her to come with him, but she did it more to run away from her own family than to spend time with him. Maybe it sounds pretty shitty of her, but Jen can’t bring herself to care. Sometimes she feels like her and Ted are still together only because he’s too afraid to break up with her.

“So my friend Shawn invited me to hang out with him, but I told him you were with me.”

“Okay?” Is Jen supposed to give him a fucking award for not ditching her on the first night? She honestly doesn’t understand him. Or any man, for that matter.

“So he told me he would bring his girlfriend too.”

Jen groans, already trying to find a way out of the situation. “But we just got here and I’m super tired.”

“Please, babe? I haven’t seen Shawn since last summer and he’s really looking forward to it. He wants to show me some tracks he’s been working on.”

She doesn’t want to give in, but she knows she will. Not because she feels guilty or actually gives a shit about Ted’s friends, but because she’s too tired to argue. Surprising, but some fights just aren’t worth it to her. Jen knows she’ll regret her acquiescence the minute she has to play nice with Shawn’s girlfriend, though.

Whatever, she’s been through worse.

Jen’s already pissed by the time her and Ted get to Shawn’s apartment. Fucking _Lorna_ and her fake ass attitude. Her and Ted were halfway out the door when Lorna materialized out of fucking nowhere, demanding to know where they were going because _you just got back, Teddy. I missed you and now you’re leaving me again._ Jen had to bite the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from saying something that would end with her sleeping on the streets for the rest of the time they’re here.

Her mood doesn’t improve when they walk through Shawn’s front door and Jen’s eyes immediately land on the girl who must be Shawn’s girlfriend and… what the actual fuck. Jen feels like she just stepped through a time-travel portal or some shit, because there’s a literal hippie taking a shot of vodka on the couch right now. Like, floor length floral dress, headband, way too much jewelry, smelling a lot like incense and a little bit of weed kind of hippie. Sure, she’s very pretty, but she definitely doesn’t look like someone Jen would voluntarily spend _any_ time with.

Ted immediately heads into the bedroom to do whatever thing it is him and Shawn do—they could be fucking for all Jen cares at this point—and Jen is left standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hi, you must be Jen! I’m Judy, Shawn’s girlfriend.” Judy holds out her hand, and Jen takes a few steps to close the gap between them and shake it. Judy’s hand is impossibly soft, and Jen thinks it fits well with the hippie look. Judy _would_ be somebody who moisturizes her hands. Jen takes a seat on the couch and pours herself a shot of the vodka Judy was just drinking; she knocks it back and it burns on the way down, but Jen likes it. She takes another.

“So you’re from Brooklyn, right? Shawn told me a little bit about you.”

“How the fuck does Shawn know anything about me?”

“I feel like that’s something you should ask your boyfriend?” Jen raises her eyebrows and chuckles lightly. Judy has a point. Jen wasn’t sure if she was going to like Judy when she first saw her, all of three minutes ago, but maybe Judy will grow on her. With the way Ted and Shawn can’t seem to go five minutes without hanging out if they’re within five miles of each other, Jen thinks she might be seeing a lot of Judy. She’s funny, at least. 

“So what is there to do for fun around here? I’ve been here less than a day and I’m already bored out of my fucking mind.”

Judy cranes her neck to look down the hallway where the boys are before turning back to Jen with a smirk on her face. “I think I might have an idea.”

Shawn lives really close to the beach, so her and Judy walk there with the sound of distant cars and crickets as company. The night is much more peaceful than the inside of Shawn’s apartment, quieter than the sound of amateur music blasting from an old stereo system. It’s the middle of June and it’s hotter than balls, even at night, so Jen is grateful for the slight breeze coming from the direction of the shoreline. They walk in relative silence, letting the night seep in as they walk side by side. Their shoulders brush every so often even though there’s a wide expanse of sidewalk, but Jen doesn’t move away.

When they get to the beach they find a patch of sand higher than the others so they can comfortably sit, and Jen balks when Judy pulls out a joint and lights it up.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Relax, no one is around. Want a hit?”

Jen takes one last cursory glance around the beach—but Judy is right, no one is here—and grabs the offered joint. She inhales and feels a sense of calm take over her whole body, and fuck, if she didn’t need that. She hands the joint back to Judy, content in the dark with the faraway sound of waves crashing. Jen smiles. They pass the joint back and forth between them until it’s gone, and with every hit Jen feels a little happier. They talk about everything and anything, the weed dissipating any need for small talk or the uncertainty that comes with talking to people you just met. Jen is surprised by how much they have in common—mainly music taste, but still.

“But like, Tracy Chapman? ‘Fast Car?’”

“Fast. Fucking. _Car_. So fucking good.”

Judy suddenly gasps before grabbing Jen’s hand, and Jen is surprised by her own body when she doesn’t flinch or immediately pull away. “Wait, did you hear about Lilith Fair?”

All thoughts about Judy’s hand leave her head at the mention of the music festival, “Of fucking _course_ I heard about Lilith Fair! I wanted to go so badly but I couldn’t get tickets for the Canandaigua date. I’m pissed.”

“Wait! I have an extra ticket for when it’s in Irvine!”

“Fucking lucky,” Jen pouts.

“ _No_ , Jen. I’m inviting you to come with me! You’ll still be in California on July 9th, right?”

“Ted and I leave the eleventh, but are you sure you want me to go? Don’t you have, like, a ton of other people you can ask?”

“Not really, no. I was supposed to go with my foster sister but she bailed. I want you to come though, it’ll be fun. The Indigo Girls are supposed to be there!”

Jen registers the words _foster sister_ but can’t really make her brain think about it right now; she doesn’t smoke weed very often and she is feeling… a bit fuzzy—plus there’s too much excitement humming in her body at the thought of going to the music festival. With Judy. Mainly about going to Lilith Fair. But also Judy? “Only if you’re sure.”

“ _Jen_ , I’m sure.”

Jen can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, “Oh my god, Judy. We’re going to fucking Lilith Fair.”

“We’re going to fucking Lilith Fair!”

“Did you just… did you just try to imitate me?”

“Yeah, but your accent is like, so hard to pin down.”

“I do _not_ have a fucking accent.”

Jen doesn’t see Judy again until a couple of nights later when her and Ted go to a party at another one of his friend’s houses. She thinks the friend’s name might be Luke or Lucky or something stupid like that, but she doesn’t care. She really doesn’t want to be here, but what the fuck else is she supposed to do? Stay home and crack open a bottle of wine with Lorna? Discuss their favorite things about Ted? The thought literally makes her gag.

Shawn is smoking on the couch and Ted goes over to join him, but Judy is nowhere in sight. Jen goes on her tiptoes and tries to make out someone that looks like a hippie in the crowd of people, but she can’t find her. She’s not sure why she feels the need to automatically look for Judy, but she _is_ the only person at this party—besides Ted—that she wouldn’t mind spending time with, so.

After some more looking around, Jen eventually finds her in the basement with a couple of other people playing a round of Quarters with what looks to be… tequila. Gross. Judy successfully bounces a quarter into her plastic solo cup, grinning even wider when she spots Jen by the stairs. Judy excuses herself from the game a few minutes later and makes her way over to Jen.

“Hey, I was hoping I would see you tonight!” Judy pulls her in for a hug and Jen is only surprised a little bit. Judy looks like a hugger.

“Well here I am, in all my glory.” It comes out sounding a bit more sarcastic than what Jen was going for, and Judy notices it too, concern spreading across her face.

“Are you okay?”

Jen sighs, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.”

Judy frowns in understanding, her demeanor impossibly sweet. “Let’s go upstairs and get you a drink then, babe. Come on.” Jen lets herself be led by Judy, hand-in-hand, ignoring the way heat is creeping up the back of her neck because of Judy calling her _babe_. It’s probably because it makes her uncomfortable, so Jen shrugs it off. She’ll bring up boundaries to Judy later.

Once upstairs, Judy mixes her a drink that looks dangerously more like vodka than orange juice, but Jen knocks it back anyways, requesting another one. Judy raises her eyebrows, but obliges. Once Jen knocks back a second and a third is in her hand, Judy leads her to the backdoor that opens up to a deck that overlooks part of the city, outlines of houses and shops illuminated by faintly shimmering lights. Jen leans against the railing and takes a deep breath as Judy mimics her position.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you want to, I’ve been told I’m a really good listener. But you totally don’t have to.”

Jen stares out at the city for a few seconds, considering Judy’s offer. It feels like a pivotal moment, like whatever she decides next is going to decide the rest of her summer. “My mom was just on my mind a lot today.”

“How so?”

Jen knows this is it; once she says it, there’s no going back. It’s going to be expelled into the air between them and it will settle like a weight on both of their shoulders. “She died last May, from cancer. And I guess I just haven’t gotten over it yet.”

Judy shifts closer and grabs Jen’s arm, and it feels like a grounding force. “Jen… that is not something you just _get_ over. You’re allowed to think about your mom and you’re allowed to be sad.”

“I’ve never been very good at being sad.”

“You need to let yourself feel it anyways. It sucks, I know, but you have to do it Jen. Otherwise you’re going to bottle it up and it’s going to gnaw at you until it destroys you.”

Jen takes a deep breath and tries not to cry. It’s almost too much, the reverence with which Judy is caring for her right now, so she tries to avoid it. “Jesus, Judy. You do realize we met like, less than a week ago, right?”

“Oh God, I’m sorry! I just, I know what it’s like to lose a mom. Shit—I mean, mine isn’t dead, she’s just in prison.”

“Oh shit, Judy…”

“No, no. It’s fine, really. It’s nothing like what you’re going through.”

Jen grabs the hand Judy still has on her arm and squeezes, trying to convey the urgency of her words, maybe something more. “Don’t do that. Just because my mom is dead doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about yours too. That’s hard, Judy.”

Judy looks like she might cry, and Jen doesn’t think she can handle that. She doesn’t want to see Judy cry. “Thank you. But I’m serious, let yourself be sad. You can always talk to me about it, if you need to. I know how hard it must have been for you to tell me, so don’t think I don’t know what that means.”

Judy has shifted her body even closer to Jen, and Jen is trying desperately to avoid eye contact. There’s a buzz in the air, and she thinks if she looks at Judy, it will turn into something bigger. “I believe you think too highly of me, my friend.”

“I’m your friend?”

A sarcastic retort is on the tip of Jen’s tongue, threatening to spill out of her mouth, but she finally looks at Judy and sees an earnestness there. Like the idea of being Jen’s friend is something earned and to be proud of. She still wants to be evasive, but something stops her. “Yeah Judy, you’re my friend.”

Judy smiles and Jen is afraid the gravity of this moment is going to continue. If it does, she’s going to crumble. “Come on, let’s go take over the stereo and put Liz Phair on.”

Jen sighs, glad the moment is gone—but she wants to create another one. “Just a minute. It’s nice out here.”

“I’ll leave you alone.” Judy turns to leave and Jen gently grabs her wrist to stop her, shaking her head. Judy smiles and Jen knows she really does want Judy here. It’s weird, because she kind of never wants Judy to leave.

“No, no. Stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things heat up! in both the bad and the good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls let me know if you can tell i listened to folklore on repeat while writing this chapter, thank u <3

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

Jen is surprised by how quickly her, Charlie, and Henry settle into a routine with the addition of Judy in their lives. She doesn’t tell the boys that her and Judy already knew each other before they met at group, but she does her best to reassure them Judy is not a serial killer or scam artist despite Charlie’s insistence Jen doesn’t even know her. Jen literally has to physically restrain herself from biting back that they do in fact know each other, almost too fucking well.

And she doesn’t end up regretting inviting Judy back into her life so fully, because it’s been really good having her around. Comforting, in a way. Jen knows she can go to her about anything, can spout any theory about who hit Ted, and Judy will listen and tell her she’s not crazy. She even helped Jen clear out Ted’s studio, probably something that would have taken years for Jen to get around to if Judy hadn’t admitted how hard it is to sleep in there. Jen gets that—Judy knew Ted once upon a time, too. It wouldn’t be easy for anyone to sleep in there with so many ghosts of their youth lingering in the air.

Jen is especially grateful for Judy when she finds out Ted was cheating instead of trying to love her in the same way she always tried to love him. It’s almost a relief to find out the truth, and it takes her longer than she would like to accept that. Not only has Ted’s affair proved her worst fears—he didn’t _want_ her—but it gives her an excuse to hate him. The shame she harbored for so long in the darkest parts of her finally gets to see the light of day. She hated Ted for what he did to her. Over the years she has felt herself slowly slipping away, molding herself into a human being possible for her husband to like. Jen knows she doesn’t want to bring Ted’s death justice because she’s a devout wife who lost her husband; she just wants to redirect the blame she’s been turning inward.

But Judy is right there every step of the way. She’s there when Jen cries over her the ache and the fear that she will never be a good person; she’s there when Jen gets the news that they were able to find out what kind of car the person drove when they hit Ted; she’s there when Jen finally admits the reason why she has thrown herself into this investigation; she’s there when the detectives start working through a list of everyone in Orange County who is a registered owner of a ’66 fucking Mustang—granted, Judy isn’t as thrilled about it as Jen thought she would be, but she’s still _there_. Judy has quickly become the beacon Jen looks to when she can’t manage to find her way out of the obscurity of her life herself, but it was all a little bit inevitable. Judy has always been good at giving, and all Jen ever knew how to do was take.

Judy walks in through the patio doors as Jen drains the last drops of her coffee and steps out of her reverie, “There you are. Do you still need me to drive you to your appointment today?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“It’s not a problem, I just have to change and then we can leave.” Judy nods and looks away, uncharacteristically solemn. “Hey, you okay?”

Judy looks back at Jen and plasters a smile on her face, “Yes, of course! Just nervous.”

“I’ll be there with you, no matter what happens. Okay?”

Judy nods, and Jen knows that’s all she’s going to get for now. Jen knows all Judy has ever wanted was to have a family and be the mother she never got. Jen knows her proposed three-child mothering team isn’t exactly what Judy had pictured, but Judy seemed grateful all the same. Jen never wanted kids and had them anyways—she doesn’t regret Charlie and Henry for a second, though—but she knew she was done because she barely knows how to raise the two she already has. And yet, when Judy brought up the idea of having a baby, Jen knew she would do anything to give Judy what she wants. _Obviously_ it wouldn’t be her kid, she would just be helping out. Like a good friend would.

They leave a few minutes later and Jen starts playing “You Were Meant For Me” in the car, hoping to cheer Judy up—but it’s a minute into the song and Judy isn’t even humming along to the sultry sound of Jewel. It’s how Jen knows something is seriously wrong. “Are you sure you’re okay babe?”

“I’m good.”

“Are you actually? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Judy sighs and looks out the window before answering. “What if this is my last chance?”

“There’s always adoption?”

“Yes, I’m forty-one and homeless, give me all your children.”

“Well, maybe don’t open with that.” It gets the laugh out of Judy she’s been waiting for.

“I’m sure though, Jen. IVF is what I want to do.”

Jen nods and keeps looking straight ahead, trying not to let on how worried she is.

When Judy comes out from the back of the doctor’s office an hour later with tears in her eyes, Jen feels her heart break. She immediately pulls Judy in for a hug as Judy whispers _I’ll never…_ and her voice breaks on the last syllable. Jen shushes her, running her hand up and down Judy’s back to try and block out the ache for a while.

Judy holds her hand in the car and looks out the window again. Jen feels helpless and it’s killing her; she keeps fidgeting because of the adrenaline coursing through her body at the thought of the world deciding Judy wasn’t enough. Jen wishes there was something she could do to take this away from Judy—a way to seep the pain out of Judy’s heart and hold it in her own. Jen’s heart has been heavy for so long, but she would still take away Judy’s hurt and carry the burden if it meant Judy didn’t have to, if it meant Judy could have everything she wanted.

When they get home, Judy starts to head straight for the guesthouse but Jen tugs on her hand, motioning her head towards the stairs. She leads Judy into her bedroom and onto the bed, opening her arms wide for Judy to fall into.

“I don’t know what to do.”

And Jen didn’t know parts of her were able to break in so many different directions. She never knew what it was like to love someone so much that the very sight of their pain was enough to make you feel like you were splitting in two, a cavern filled to the brim with the need to take it away.

“You’ll always have us, Judy. You’re a part of this family. I know it’s not the same, but I hope it’s something.”

Jen is surprised by the reverence with which she says it. She knows it’s true—Judy became a part of her family the day she walked in the front door and it was like the house lit up after months of waxing darkness—but she didn’t realize just how true it was. When she thinks of _home_ , Judy is right there with the boys, a constant in the invariable of Jen’s life. It’s serene, the feeling of sharing a life with someone that you love—and there’s that word again: _love_. She’s always loved Judy for who she is, but maybe definitions can change.

Judy doesn’t respond to her declaration, just pulls Jen a little closer and holds her a little tighter.

**Laguna Beach, 1997**

Jen is locked in the bedroom assigned to her at Lorna’s house when she hears a faint knock on the door through her headphones. She rolls her eyes and pauses Fiona Apple singing about wanting release from her sins, criminal behavior leading to criminal wants. Ted peaks his head in, and opens the door fully when he sees she’s not particularly busy.

“Judy is on the phone, she’s asking for you.”

Jen nods and gets up, heading for the nearest landline. She didn’t think her and Judy were on “sit and gossip on the phone for hours” level of friendship yet, but Jen thinks her idea of companionship might have gotten misconstrued somewhere along the line of her life.

“Hello?”

“Hi! It’s Judy.”

“Yeah, I know. What’s up?”

“Um, well… I was just wondering, maybe, if you wanted to, but you totally don’t have to—”

“Judy, just spit it out.”

“Do you want to hang out? With me?”

“Right now?”

“Well, yes?”

Jen looks down the hallway towards Ted’s bedroom, hearing the faint sounds of guitar riffs coming through the closed door. They were supposed to go out for dinner tonight.

“What’s your address?”

Jen knocks on Judy’s door, weirdly nervous. She feels like this is a big step, entering the realm of Judy, where she comes home and does whatever the fuck it is Judy does to relax—probably smoke a joint and sage the place. Either way, Jen feels stripped bare, like she’s learning something new.

“Jen! Hi!” And Judy pulls her in for a hug like they didn’t see each other a couple of nights ago, like Jen is a surprise Judy’s been waiting for. “Come in, come in.”

Jen steps over the threshold and is hit with the impossible smell of _Judy_ : something light and airy, something homespun and close. There’s not a single surface in the entire apartment that isn’t covered with a plant, book, or incense sticks. Jen finds herself wanting to turn over every book, light every candle, and discover what makes up the parts of Judy she has yet to discover. Jen’s never felt the need to know someone like this before, like she wants them to become an extension of who she is herself. It’s odd. The first time she went to Ted’s apartment in New York, she immediately wanted to leave.

“Sorry it’s kind of messy, I’ve been so out of it lately.”

“Something happen?”

“Oh, Shawn and I broke up.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“Didn’t feel like it was going anywhere. Better to cut off things like that early.” Judy scrunches her face up, and Jen wants to smooth out the lines. She nods, like she understands what Judy is saying, even though she doesn’t. Jen doesn’t know how to remove things from her life that don’t make her happy or make her feel safe. Sometimes Jen thinks she keeps all bad things adjacent to her so it will reprieve her from the need she has to be good.

“Do you want something to drink? I have Mad Dog 2020 or tap water.”

“Well, if you’re offering, I will kindly take a cup of the thing that will get me drunk.”

“Tap water it is.”

Jen rolls her eyes and tries to fight the smile threatening to overtake her face. Judy is kind of ridiculous, but Jen thinks it’s a kind of ridiculous she’s growing to love. She’s kind of irked, by how much she already seems to implicitly trust Judy, how much Jen has revealed about herself in so little time. She doesn’t even know Judy’s middle name for fuck’s sake.

“So what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” Judy glances at Jen from the kitchen where she’s pouring two cups of Mad Dog.

“I mean, is there a reason you wanted me to come over?”

“I figured we should probably plan out our trip to Lilith Fair, but I also… just wanted to spend time with you?”

“Oh.” Jen doesn’t know this feeling; she doesn’t have very many friends back in New York and usually Ted only hits her up when he wants to get laid. Hanging out is a pretense, in her life.

“We’re friends, right? Hanging out is usually what friends do.”

“Right. Of course.”

Judy walks over and hands her a cup before heading to her stereo and pressing play. The quiet sound of Paula Cole drifts through the space between them, a story of love saturating the air. Jen loves this song, but Judy makes it sound different. Jen takes a big gulp of her drink to hide the blush she feels crawling across her face, aware that her reaction is irrational. She’s just nervous around Judy because they are relative strangers who shared arcane secrets one night, it has nothing to do with the way Judy looks in her dress or the way Judy’s hand moves to the rhythm of the music, the rings on her fingers reflecting with the light.

“I wish I knew who Carmen was, she sounds remarkable.”

“Yes she does,” and Jen can’t take her eyes off Judy’s hips as they slowly sway to the melodic riff of the guitar pouring out.

“My mom was a drug addict.” Judy doesn’t stop swaying, her eyes closed as the song moves onto the next track, the same quiet never stopping. Jen almost spits out the drink she just took, completely taken off guard.

“ _What_?”

“Sorry, people just usually wonder why she went to prison. Figured it was best to just get that out there in case you were wondering.”

“Yes I wondered, but I didn’t expect you to tell me.”

“I trust you.”

And that hits Jen like a bucket of cold water dripping down her body, freezing her from the inside out. Trust, not something she has ever given or received easily. But Judy… _trusts_ her, and Jen finds she trusts Judy, too. Maybe Judy is the remarkable one in the room tonight, so freely giving out parts of herself to those around her. Jen doesn’t know how she does it, just gives herself up like that. Even with Ted, Jen keeps parts of herself away from him; there are some things she never tells anybody.

“I was relieved when my mom died.”

Judy stops moving and focuses on Jen, taking a drink before speaking. “Would you like to talk about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would it help if I shared too?” Jen nods. “Okay. I testified and I’m the reason my mom went to prison.”

“My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was nine.”

“I spent the rest of my childhood in the system.”

“She kept going in and out of remission.”

“I think I’ve lived in about seven different foster homes.”

“I was… _angry_ at her, like it was her fault she never got better.” And this is the one that always makes Jen break, the way her corrupt anger has always ruined everything good. She takes another drink and feels the tears start falling, desperately trying to stop them. It’s a mark of weakness, one that she is constantly trying to get rid of and sometimes fails at. 

“Oh babe, come here.” Judy sits on the couch and holds her arms up, waiting for Jen to go to her. It’s not a demand, Jen knows it’s a request. She doesn’t have to take it if she doesn’t want to, but she finds herself folding into Judy anyways, sobs wracking her body. “It’s okay to cry. I’m here.”

For the first time in her entire life, Jen feels _held_. She feels like she can finally fall apart, and Judy will be there to help her pick the pieces up and put her back together. Everyone in Jen’s life has given her sympathy and empty words when they don’t know what to say, because they’re secretly grateful it’s not them feeling the loss she has. It’s always made her feel like a burden, so she learned to cry her grief alone and away from those who don’t want to see it. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to allow yourself to grieve, Jen. Don’t ever be sorry for that.”

Jen nods, and she knows Judy is right. But grieving is way harder than being numb, and emptiness is what she’s always felt safe in. Maybe that’s why Judy feels so tangible to her—a soft touch to let Jen know she doesn’t have to be the strong person everyone thinks she should be. She wants to shake this off, to buck up and plan their trip to Lilith Fair; Jen wants to be happy and forget there was ever someone she was forced to lose. But for now, she will listen to Judy. She will let herself feel this, here, in Judy’s embrace.

“Can we go somewhere we can get really wasted?”

“Fuck, I haven’t felt this alive in _years_.”

“You feel alive in a grimy bar surrounded by gross dudes?”

“Yes!”

Jen shrugs and follows Judy back out onto the dance floor after finishing their drinks, willing to let herself be led. Judy took her to a bar close to Judy’s apartment, and the past hour has been filled with shots, dancing, and more shots. It feels so good, to finally let loose like this. Jen thinks she might have been bottling up everything inside her, closing her fists around the good and the bad until nothing is left for her to lose—but something about Judy makes her want to let go. Judy _is_ liberation, apparently. 

Something by the Rolling Stones is playing, and Jen keeps bringing herself closer to Judy as they move to the music, letting their hips and hands lead. It feels cosmic—this moment—like something in the stars has aligned or whatever. Jen doesn’t really know anything about astrology, she just knows she never wants this night to end. It feels like a wormhole, and her and Judy are the only ones allowed to enter. 

“No thank you…”

Jen looks up sharply to see a guy that looks like he’s never had to deal with consequences standing close to Judy—too close for Jen’s liking. He’s leering, not taking no for an answer and trying to get Judy to dance with him. Jen feels the familiar ferocity bubbling up, begging to be released, and she regrets the perverse sort of pleasure that comes with it.

“Hey fucko. I’m not sure if you heard her, but she said _no_.”

He looks at Jen, “Was I asking you, bitch?”

Jen feels the blood rushing in her veins and hears her heartbeat pumping furiously in her chest, fists tightening like a coil. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, was I asking you, _bitch._ ”

Jen doesn’t even remember making the decision to punch him in the face, but maybe it wasn’t a decision at all. She only knows the feeling of her fist connecting with his cheekbone and her satisfaction swelling when he promptly falls to the floor. But before he’s even off the ground, Judy is tugging her away and out of the bar—and rightfully so, because Jen was going to knock him on his ass again.

Judy stops them under a streetlamp down the block and takes Jen’s hand, inspecting it closely. “Jen, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the bastard had it coming.”

“You didn’t have to punch him in the face!”

“What else would you have me do? Politely tell him to fuck off?”

“ _Yes_ , that’s what most people would do.”

“Well, I guess I’m not most people then.”

“No, you’re definitely not. But you didn’t have to get your knuckles bloody for me.”

Jen looks down at the hand Judy is still holding, and Judy is right—her hand is a little swollen and bruised already, blood covering them like a stain that might never come off—but she doesn’t care. She would have done it a hundred times over, every time, if it was for Judy.

“Yes, I did.”

“And then we just drive back up the next morning! I don’t know about you, Judy, but that sounds like a plan.” Jen flings her arms out to the side in triumph, relieved that their plan for Irvine is set in place. She’s on the far side of drunk now—they topped off the bottle of Mad Dog once they got back home—and Judy is getting closer and closer to her on the couch. Intoxication is the best word to describe what she’s feeling right now, between the alcohol and the way Judy keeps looking at her. Jen doesn't know exactly how Judy is looking at her, she just knows it's akin to fervent. 

“Oh! I made you something, let me go get it.” Judy jumps up from the couch and runs to her bedroom while Jen stares blankly, confused by the sudden turn in conversation. Judy comes back a few seconds later holding a necklace in her hands. It’s a small, pink crystal delicately wrapped in gold wire. Judy places it in the palm of Jen’s outstretched hand, hurrying to explain as Jen keeps staring at it, “It’s rose quartz. It’s supposed to help with restoring harmony in relationships and establish close connections. And… it’s also supposed to help calm and heal in times of grief.”

Jen’s breath hitches, and she feels a lump in her throat. It takes her a few seconds to form the words in her mouth, voice slightly breaking. “Thank you.”

Judy reaches out for the necklace, not quite taking it from Jen as she tries to figure out what to do. “Shit, should I not have given you that? I’m so sorry! I can get rid of it—”

“No, Judy. I love it. Seriously, _thank_ you.” Jen looks up at Judy and smiles, feeling more genuine than she ever has in her entire life. It might be this moment that she realizes Judy is one of a kind; Jen has never felt quite so understood and accepted by someone, like she’s worth getting to know. Judy has taught her so much about the world, but the most precious lesson Jen has learned from Judy is that she’s valued. 

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

Jen is sitting on a chair in the guesthouse, Judy sprawled across the bed. They’re two wine bottles deep, and Jen is feeling kind of... depressed. She shouldn’t be; she’s really close to finding out who hit Ted, which she should be ecstatic about, but she can’t help but let it be dampened by all of the exposed secrets that have accumulated these last couple of months. The emotions that she usually pushes away—wrath, hurt, guilt, indignity—have a way of appearing when she least expects it. And on top all of that, she has to deal with the newfound realization that she might be falling back in love with Judy, the one person she can’t afford to lose. She’s not sure if she ever fell out of it if she’s being honest, and that’s a whole other thing to fucking deal with.

“Hey, you okay? You look like you’re thinking really hard over there.”

“Fine, just contemplating all the bad decisions I've ever made.”

“Heavy. Like what?”

Jen doesn’t really want to talk about it, but Judy asked and Jen can’t lie to her, not anymore. “Sometimes I think I stayed with Ted because I was afraid of being alone. Even before we got married, I was never sure I wanted to spend my life with him. I think I was just more scared of never finding anyone else. And here I am, alone anyways.”

Judy sits up and leans closer, like there’s not at least four feet of space in between them. “Don’t say that, Jen. You still have a lot of life left in you. There are plenty of people out there who would _love_ to love you.”

“Uh, no. I think I left all of that behind me anyways, when I went back to New York that summer.” Jen winces slightly, regretting the slip up. Neither of them are sober enough to talk about that.

“Our summer? What do you mean you left all of that behind?”

“I just mean, I never really believed in love after that summer.” Jen shrugs, trying to get rid of the vulnerability permeating the air around her and settling on her shoulders. 

“Because of me?”

“Not necessarily, no. I just didn’t _want_ to believe in love. You kind of ruined me, Judy.” She chuckles to get rid of the feeling that's making it hard to breathe.

Judy frowns, turning in on herself. “That’s a little harsh.”

Jen can’t stop herself, she’s drunk and caught up in the mistakes of her youth. “Look, I’m just saying that I think I would’ve been a lot happier in my marriage if we had never met.” It’s a half-truth to avoid the bigger one.

“Where is this coming from? Why are you being so mean?”

“You let me fucking leave, Judy! You just let me _go_.” The last word is a whisper, and Jen has to look away. She can feel tears forming in her eyes and this has all become a little too much a little too fast. The words fell out of her mouth, and she wishes with every ounce of her body that she could pick them back up and swallow them whole so she might choke on the regret.

“What?”

Jen knows she’s not going to get out this without some sort of explanation, so she takes a deep breath to ground herself. Her head is floating, trying to wade in a pool of wine and the disbelief of how badly she is currently fucking everything up. “When we were younger, you didn’t do anything to stop me from going back. You just gave up.”

Judy stands from the bed like she’s going to reach out for Jen, but seems to decide against it. “You weren’t mine to lose, Jen. You were dating the very man that became your husband! What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t fucking know, Judy, _fight_ for me or something.” Jen is standing now too, her arms stretched out to the side in exasperation. Her voice is taking on a very helpless tone and she hates it, she fucking hates it.

“I didn’t know you were mine to fight for. I didn’t think you wanted me to do that.”

“Of course I wanted you to! I was in love with you!”

Judy takes a step closer, “ _What_?”

“Fuck. I mean… God fucking dammit. Fine, yeah, I loved you. I never told you, but I did.” And _fuck_ , if this isn’t the worst way Jen could have done this. This conversation is definitely more than she can deal with, but she doesn’t know how to leave it. There are always ten more emotions swirling around inside her than she can handle and it’s all because of fucking Judy and Jen’s inability to not love her like she’s everything that’s ever gone right in the world. The territory in Jen’s mind that Judy owns is always on fire, ready to engulf her from the inside out.

“You should have fucking told me, Jen. Maybe then I could have told you I was in love with you, too.”

Jen feels a pit in her stomach. “I didn’t tell you because I am bad news, Judy. I always ruin everything, and I didn’t want to ruin you too.”

“No, you’re not. I love you, and all of the issues that come with you.” Judy does reach out now, and Jen wants to leave. Judy is too good for her, and Jen has already taken too much. 

“I’m not a good fucking person, Judy. I am absolute _shit_.” Jen needs to get out of here before she does something she’ll regret. It’s like the whole world is out of focus and the only thing clear enough for her to recognize is Judy’s face, impossibly close and impossibly tender. She needs a different cornerstone, something that won’t make her want to rewrite the past or smash all the clocks to pieces so Jen can get as much time with Judy as she wants.

“That’s not true—”

“I’m the reason Ted is dead!” Jen takes a step back and wraps her arms around herself, trying to hide how hard her hands are shaking. Judy stays where she is, but her face has changed to something that looks like fear. _Good_ , Jen thinks, _she should be afraid of me._

“What are you talking about?”

“The night he died… we had an argument.”

“Okay, well every couple argues—”

“No, Judy. This was different.”

“How?”

Jen pauses before answering, knowing this will be the moment everything changes. This might be the moment she loses everything. But she tells Judy anyways—the lack of touch after her mastectomy and how she felt disgusting, like she would never be good enough to want, the fury that built up inside her and the way it was released in the form of cracking her knuckles on her husband’s cheekbone. After she’s said it all, Jen doesn’t look at Judy, afraid to see her reaction and selfishly craving the relief Judy always puts forth. 

“That kind of stuff happens sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re responsible—"

“Can you stop trying to make me feel better for two fucking seconds?” It's the relief she craved, but it doesn’t feel like the absolution she wanted. “I punched him in the _face_. I hit him, and he left. He wasn’t on a _run_ at one in the fucking morning. He was on that road because he couldn’t stand to be in this house with me for another second. It’s my fault, Judy.”

She finally looks at Judy and is confused by what she finds. It’s not the disgust she expected, or even fear; it’s nothing remotely close to what Jen was expecting. Instead, Judy looks guilty. "No, it's not."

Jen groans, “Yes it is, Judy. I hit him.”

“No, _I_ hit him.”

Jen’s brow furrows, confused. “What? Judy, no, I _hit_ him—”

“ _No_. I hit him—”

“Oh my god, _I_ hit him—”

“I owned a ’66 Mustang.”

Jen abruptly stops, every nerve ending in her body screaming. She waits for Judy to tell her she’s kidding, that she’s just trying _really_ hard to make Jen feel better. Jen waits for Judy to tell her it isn’t true, but she doesn’t. In its place, Jen hears about how dark it was the night Ted died, how Judy took the bend on Clove Street too fast. She listens to Judy tell her she didn’t know Jen was Ted’s wife until the first group meeting, when Jen talked about it. She absorbs the fact that Judy had built them on lies, that Jen herself had fallen for them. Judy, _Judy_ —right in front of her the entire time—and Jen never fucking knew. She vaguely hears Judy asking her what she can do to make this better, begging for Jen to say something.

She doesn’t want to say it, but it’s the first thing that comes to her mind while everything around her is crumbling, Jen’s entire world going up in flames. Her life has become a collision course and the result is _this—_ a cruel fucking joke. She needs to get the fuck out of here right now. She needs to leave and she needs to yell and she needs to punch something because the woman Jen loves has just told her that she killed Jen’s husband. She has just realized she loves the woman who killed her husband and everything feels a little bit dead to her, rotting the very core of her. 

“You can die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @jensblazerhoard on twitter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good fucking luck

**Laguna Beach, 1997**

Jen finishes zipping her duffel bag closed when two honks come from a car outside the house. Anticipation courses through her as she tries not to trip while rushing down the stairs, barely kissing Ted goodbye on her way out the door. When she told him she was going to Lilith Fair with Judy, he acted weirdly insulted.

_Seriously? You’ve basically spent our entire time here with Judy._

_So?_

_So, I thought this trip was for us._

_Hard for a trip to be for “us” when you don’t even act like you fucking like me half of the time. You’ve been sitting in your room and working on your album the entire time anyways._

_Jen, I know this past year has been hard for you. But it’s been hard for me, too._

She blocked out everything else Ted had to say after that, unable to stop her mind from drawing comparisons between him and Judy. Ted acts like he is doing Jen a favor by loving her, just waiting around for the day Jen realizes she has everything with him. But Judy… Judy treats Jen like she _is_ everything.

Jen shakes her head as if to release the thoughts into the midafternoon sky, sun shining brightly and directing her towards the rundown station wagon Judy drives. This weekend isn’t for ruminating on her relationship, it’s about her and Judy.

“Ready?” Judy asks as Jen slides in the passenger seat.

“More than you know.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” Judy says, putting the car in drive.

And for the next thirty minutes, Jen is the happiest she’s been since she was old enough to cement memories in her neural pathways. The windows are rolled down, whipping hair in their faces as they blast Tracy Chapman and sing out their unspoken woes. It’s cathartic, a subtle purification of the youth they both lost—and the one they may still have yet to find.

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

“Judy? I need you to come home.”

Jen doesn’t say anything else, just hangs up because she knows Judy will be here. She hasn’t moved yet—can’t stop staring at the dead man floating in her pool, blood splattered across the concrete. Fucking _Steve_ , and his toxic masculinity bullshit. Jen didn’t mean to kill him, she didn’t even know what she was doing until she had already pushed him into the pool. She’s never felt rage like that, something consuming and encompassing and… _unbearable_. Jen knows anger, but this is different. After what Steve said, all Jen could see was Ted jumping in front of Judy’s car, wishing for death to come a little closer. Ted was willing to lose everything, just so he wouldn’t have to see her again. All of that sitting on top of a volcano simmering with hurt was bound to erupt—and it ended with her killing someone.

What the fuck is she going to do? Jen’s not a killer, she’s _not_. It was the heat of the moment, a crime of passion, self-defense against vicious words. If she ends up in court, on trial for murder, that will be her defense. _Not guilty your honor, he was a fucking dick._ God, she’s going insane. She could lose everything because of this. She’s already lost Judy, why not her kids and her house and everything else she’s struggled to keep afloat?

And Judy— _fuck_. She would’ve stopped, Jen knows that deep down in her fucking bone marrow, like it’s written in her very DNA. _Judy would’ve stopped_ is imprinted on her, maybe somewhere on her fifth chromosome, taking up space in the very details of Jen. It all makes sense now. She should’ve given Judy another chance to explain everything, but Jen just pushed her away and—

“What did you _do_?” Jen quickly turns and sees Judy a couple of feet behind her, staring at Steve’s body in horror.

“Judy…” Jen doesn’t know what to say. There’s no way to explain this, all she knows is that she needs Judy’s help getting Steve’s lifeless body out of her pool before anyone in this fucking neighborhood wakes up. “I’ll tell you later, but for now can you please just help me?”

Judy crouches by the edge of the pool, not taking her eyes off what’s inside. “What are we going to do? Did you call the police?”

“Are you fucking insane? No, I didn’t call the fucking police,” Jen hisses, afraid to say anything above a loud whisper.

“Why not? It was an accident right?” Jen doesn’t answer and Judy stands up to finally look at her. “ _Right_?”

“Not exactly… look, I will tell you what happened once we figure out what to do with the dead Steve in my fucking _pool_.”

Judy looks like she’s going to cry, but ultimately settles on resolute. “Right, okay. Do you have somewhere we could move him? A freezer, maybe?”

“Yeah, there’s a big one in the garage. Maybe tomorrow we should take it to Angeles Forest?”

“What?”

“Remember Shandy? The other day she was telling me that’s where all the gangs go to bury their victims or whatever. Weird fucking kid. But that’s okay, right? Tomorrow’s Friday and I can ask Lorna to pick up the boys from school and keep them for the night. There! We have a plan.”

“Don’t you think Steve deserves more than to be buried in a forest in the middle of the night? Especially one apparently already littered with other dead bodies?”

“First of all, I’m going to need you to keep your fucking voice down. Second of all, we don’t have a lot of options here, Judy. It’s the forest or fucking _prison_ , you choose.”

Judy looks like she might cry again, and Jen grabs the pool rake.

Jen shuts the lid on the freezer and locks it, sighing. She feels disgusting. She needs to wash all of this off—the dirt, the guilt, the sin, the blood. It will take years to resolve herself of this, and many, many showers where she ends up red and raw. Judy stands just behind her, staring blankly at the freezer.

“Judy, I—"

“What did he say to you?”

Jen balks, “What?”

“Steve, what did he say to make you kill him?”

“How do you know he _said_ something to me?”

“Because I know him.”

Jen really doesn’t want to do this—it’s two in the morning and she just wants to go to bed so she can wake up and pretend the last two days were just a fucking nightmare—but she owes Judy an explanation, and she knows she has to tell her now. “He said some really mean stuff. About me. To me.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“It doesn’t matter exactly what he said, Judy—”

“Obviously it fucking matters, Jen! You killed him, so what the _fuck_ did he say to you?”

Jen stops, afraid of the look in Judy’s eyes. She doesn’t want to say it out loud, because then it might be true—Judy might confirm her worst fear. Jen starts crying before the words even start forming in her mouth, tangible evidence of a possible truth she’s always wanted to avoid. “He said that Ted wanted to die because of me, that he jumped in front of your car.”

Judy pauses, taking in Jen’s confession. “You know that’s not true right?”

“Of course it is! Ted hated me. My kids fucking hate me. _I_ hate me. I told you I was shit.”

“No, Jen. None of that is true. I don’t hate you—”

“God, why are you always trying to make me feel better? Stop, just _stop_ it. I don’t deserve to feel better right now, Judy. I _killed_ someone.” Jen turns around and starts heading for the garage door.

“I did, too.”

Jen stops at Judy’s whisper, her hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, well, I guess we both don’t deserve to feel better then.” Forgiveness is hard, especially since she never really believed in it. Jen opens the door and heads upstairs, ready to fall the fuck asleep.

Judy pulls her water bottle away from her face while Jen tries to focus on the road and not on the sounds Judy is making, “God, I need to _pee_.”

“Then stop drinking so much water.”

“But my throat is so dry from all the dirt—”

“Then drink some fucking water.” Judy nods and brings the water bottle back to her mouth. Jen regrets telling her to drink more when the sounds continue.

They’re a little ways outside of Laguna and Jen just wants to go back to bed. None of the movies ever made burying a dead body look _that_ fucking hard, but apparently it is. She’s exhausted, her back hurts like a bitch, and she’s not sure if she can even feel anything other than weary anymore. She’s running on autopilot but it feels like her fuel has run dry and she’s about to nosedive into despair. Her and Judy haven’t even _talked_ about anything other than how to avoid life sentences, and the pressure of it all is suffocating her. Jen wants it to go away, but not enough to start a conversation about anything they need to figure out. The car is just so fucking quiet; usually Judy plays music—most of the time it’s Fiona Apple or Tracy Chapman—but she hasn’t touched her phone since they got back in the car; Judy is acting like a shell of who she actually is. Jen can’t even blame her, their relationship is built on lies and death and clandestine meetings, a recipe for the worst kind of agony. Even the stars seemed dimmer tonight, like the two of them didn’t deserve their shine.

“Can you pull over?”

“What, why?”

“I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Are you serious? We’re almost back to Laguna, can’t you wait?”

“Do you want me to pee in your fucking car?”

“Fine, _fine_. I’ll pull over.”

Judy gets out of the car after Jen pulls off to the side of the road, and finds a bush to crouch behind as she begins to unbutton her pants. Jen is suddenly very interested in her dashboard—she honestly never knew there were so many fucking buttons on it—avoiding the thing that has laid beneath the surface since Judy came back into her life. There’s only one word for it, but Jen can’t bring herself to even acknowledge the definition of _desire_ —like it’s a word that can ruin them more than everything else already has. Judy slides back into the passenger two minutes later and winces.

“Drip dry?”

“Yeah.”

“Should’ve waited.”

Jen parks the car outside of Judy’s work, engine idling. They’re covered in deceit and dirt and demise, but Jen can’t bring Judy home. All of their transgressions are locked inside the guesthouse, and if Judy opens that door, Jen will finally snap in two. It used to just be Ted’s ghost in there, but now it feels like there are so many more hauntings waiting to take place.

“So, um, I’ll drop off your things in a couple days.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need—”

“Got it.”

“Okay. I guess this is goodbye then?”

Crucial, a card played wrong and Jen will surely make a decision that doesn’t leave them both wanting—but she _can’t_. It’s obvious her and Judy have never been able to stop destroying the things around them when they enter their liminal space. This has to be it.

But Judy is looking at her—resentment and passion colliding in the irises surrounding her pupils—a stark contrast to the emptiness her eyes held earlier. The restricted space between them in the car is electric, and Jen is afraid to inhale incorrectly. There’s a full house in her hands and she might just go all in, might just lay out all she has on the table for Judy to see.

“Judy…” Jen whispers, afraid, turning the engine off anyways. That’s all it takes for Judy to lunge across the console and over the threshold of Jen’s heart, their lips connecting in a mess of teeth and torment. Judy reaches behind Jen and pulls out the clip holding her hair up, letting it fall like a veil over Jen’s face. Jen returns the favor and takes the hair tie out of Judy’s hair, making sure both of them are hidden from the depravity.

Jen blindly reaches down, never taking her mouth off Judy’s, and moves her seat all the way back. Judy gets the hint and moves to sit in Jen’s lap, stumbling a bit as she tries to maneuver without letting Jen have any peace for too long. They both know what this is: release. Jen knows that Judy knows that _this,_ won’t change anything about the goodbye they still have to face.

As Judy kisses along Jen’s jaw, slowly moving to her neck and the spot that makes her squirm, Jen is filled with a wrath that only fuels desire. “I hate what you did to me, but I hate myself even more for not wanting to care.”

Judy groans, but not pausing. “Shut the fuck up, Jen.”

Jen kisses her ferociously, moving her hands down to the button of Judy’s pants, making quick work of it. “ _Fuck_ you.”

Judy mimics her actions, annoyance lacing her tone, “I’m _trying_.”

They stop talking after that, instead choosing to focus on the way their hands follow the map they created all those years ago. It’s unceremonious, the way Judy goes straight for the most sensitive part of Jen with anger on the tips of her fingers. Jen has always given as good as she gets though, and makes sure Judy knows that it will only ever be Jen that can produce that certain kind of whimper when Jen enters her with three fingers and no preamble. The sex is quick, an emancipation of their deadly day and deeds. Jen remembers more than she thinks, and Judy is closer than ever—Jen right behind her when Judy whispers _with me, Jen. With me._

Two minutes later their aftershocks are dissipating while their flushes remain, Judy back in her seat while they both fix the zippers on their jeans. Difficult is the only way Jen can think to describe the effort it takes to look in Judy’s eyes as she turns the car back on, light breaking through the night. It pains her to say it, but they both know she has to. “Goodbye, Judy.”

“Goodbye, Jen.”

Judy softly closes the car door behind her, a little bit of that emptiness leaking back into her eyes, and Jen feels it, the last piece of the puzzle falling off of the table, into unknown depths. Their partings have always felt like airport goodbyes—temporary until forever ends—but this is much, much bigger. Jen feels like a story is ending, no epilogue written or saving grace. She always thought her and Judy were still in the middle of a chapter, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe this _is_ the end, a resolution for the ages.

Jen pulls into her driveway and isn’t surprised to feel none of the tension leave her shoulders. In the span of forty-eight hours, her life has been upended and blown into an alternate dimension, one where the worst parts of her are the only parts. Everything is extremely fucked up right now, and normality feels like a dream. Her husband dying was bad enough, but now she knows what Atlas must have felt like: holding the weight of the entire world on his shoulders and never being able to let go in fear of obliteration. She might forever be living in a space next to normal, one where she doesn’t receive punishment—but no gratification either. This is the ending she’s written for herself, a tragic hero always knows their suffering before they make the decisions they know will lead up to it. It’s only right to force herself to live with an impenetrable ache for the rest of her days, recompense for the sins she can’t help but commit. Jen thought she learned this lesson a long time ago, but some habits are hard to break—and this one feels like it’s ingrained into her being, one she will have to relive day after day—evidently losing Judy after a high of lust is one of them.

Judy will be better off without her, and neither of them will have to face the guilt they carry as they sip their morning coffee every day. Nothing can be the same after this, the hurt they have accumulated between them is too much. Jen needs to move on and reconstruct her life without Judy in it, build a stable home for her and the boys to live out the rest of their days. Losing Judy is the sacrifice she’s been forced to make, but Jen is tired of making Judy the martyr for her sins. This is the only way Jen can move on and rightfully feel like the world has decided she’s not worthy of being saved, that she is only metal and misery.

**Irvine, 1997**

“Fuck, I _love_ this song,” Judy shouts at Jen over the screaming crowd, but Jen only barely manages to hear her. Sara McLachlan is on stage, singing about something Jen doesn’t know—her and Judy smoked a joint right before entering the festival and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t _really_ fucking high—and everyone is dancing as some of the lyrics finally register inside Jen’s head. She realizes she loves this song too, but loves it more when Judy is next to her and bobbing her head like she’s on cloud nine. It feels like _they’re_ the ones building a mystery, something only for them to discover and believe in.

Jen looks at the crowds of people around them, women of all kinds from all over enjoying the same music and experiencing different versions of the truth. She hates to say it, but it feels like fucking _magic_. An open field and a sweeping stage for Jen to finally let go and feel the things she never dared. She tilts her head towards the setting sun and lifts her hand to the warmth, letting her skin soak up the remaining bits of light left in this world. Her eyes close on their own, still swaying along to the music radiating around her, and this is the most authentic version of herself she’s ever freed. Today is an embedded alibi, the ability to denounce being known still remaining, but Jen never wants to lie again.

She opens her eyes and everything is crystal clear again after she blinks the spots out of her vision, Judy becoming her focal point. She’s singing along to the song, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Jen hears a different song playing—but Judy is right in front of her. The sun Jen was just relishing is now a spotlight on the thing Jen can’t seem to shake, a halo forming around Judy’s head like it belongs there. Maybe there’s still a little bit of light left here on Earth, standing close to Jen like she knows.

“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes look like amber in sunlight?”

Judy stops singing and looks at Jen, an indiscernible feeling passing over face. “No, they haven’t.”

“Fuck those guys.” It comes out closer to a whisper than anything, and Jen isn’t sure Judy heard her. She doesn’t really know what she’s saying, lost in the way Judy’s eyes seem to be telling her _find a way. Maybe life doesn’t always, but you can find a way._

“Yeah, fuck those guys—”

Jen cuts Judy off with her mouth, a quiet clash of fates. It’s wrong, _so_ wrong, but Jen has never felt more fixed than this. She found the center of the Golden Ratio here in Judy’s existence, a factual constant in their theoretical existence. Is this it? The love Jen has been craving her entire life? The way Judy’s mouth feels against hers as they slowly part their lips makes her feel like it just might be. Kismet is a word Jen would never use, but that’s the only way she can think to describe the overwhelming sensation of having Judy in her arms like this.

Jen pulls away but stays close, grabbing Judy’s hands in hers. She worries about the crowd around them, but quickly remembers this is fucking _Lilith Fair_ , buying a ticket is like announcing to the world you love women. Her body is wired, waiting for whatever comes next. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Can we stay until this set is finished?”

Jen laughs, knowing she could never refuse Judy anything if she keeps looking at Jen like she hung the fucking stars. “Sure babe, we can stay for this set.”

Their voices are hoarse by the time they get back to the motel, a result of all the screaming that ensued at the end of the last song before they left. Jen opens the door to their room and sees one bed, suddenly remembering how her and Judy decided this was the best way to save their money. Maybe they were heading here this whole time, like parts of their subconscious knew they wouldn’t be able to stay away from the deepest parts of each other. 

Awkwardness has managed to settle itself around them without the guise of pot and good music, the effects of the day wearing off a bit as Jen sits on the bed and takes off her shoes. Judy sits down on the chair across the room, and it’s too much space between them for what just happened.

“You don’t have to avoid me. We’re in the same room and there’s one fucking bed.”

“Sorry, I just don’t know what you want me to do.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Jude. What do _you_ want to do?”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, nothing is going to happen if you’re sitting all the way over there.”

Judy smirks, suddenly flirtatious. “Who said something was going to happen?”

Jen flushes and feels her stomach swoop; she’s seen Judy flirt, it’s just never been directed at _her_. This is untrod territory and Jen can’t find a place to put her hands when Judy is looking at her like _that_ —like she wants Jen. And Jen wants her, too. She wants Judy so fucking bad and this is all so new to her: the want and desire and affection. All these feelings effervescing in the night approaching, and Jen thinks this might be her one shot at feeling alive.

She’s across the room before Judy has time to blink at the sudden change in the moment’s momentum, Jen kissing her again and swallowing both of their moans. Jen climbs into Judy’s lap, a knee on either side of Judy’s hips, slotting together like a puzzle neither knew they were solving. Jen really doesn’t know where to put her hands now, finding some new place on Judy’s body she wants to explore. Judy wraps one of her hands on the back on Jen’s neck, making a fist and tugging slightly; Jen groans at the sting of pain, savoring the pleasure that comes with it.

Judy pushes up from the chair, forcing both of them to stand, before walking Jen backwards towards the bed. Jen falls back with a huff when her knees hit the mattress, and nothing has ever looked more beautiful than staring up at Judy the way she is now.

Their clothes are off before Jen realizes she said _yes_ , fading in and out of belief because surely, there’s no way this is actually happening. There’s no way Judy is nipping at her neck, trailing kisses slowly down her body like Jen is something to be worshipped. It’s the most repressed form of a dream Jen has ever imagined, a fantasy built in the back of her mind. But then Judy tugs at Jen’s underwear with her teeth, a silent question, and Jen is struck with an epiphany that this is _real_. Nothing has ever felt more real than Judy uncovering all of her and still holding prayers in her eyes as she looks at down at Jen—a little taste of religion that Jen has never acquired.

Judy lowers her body to Jen’s, her tongue creating a trail of adoration around Jen’s navel, down her abdomen, across her inner thigh. Judy is close, so _close_ , to where Jen needs her—but one wall remains standing. Judy lifts her head up and Jen thinks it is glorious, the way longing is licking its way up her body, dwindling beneath her skin, crafting trails around her heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.”

“I don’t want you to do something you’ll end up regretting—”

“Judy, _please_.”

A tango in the night, a celestial pull. Jen is Orion’s sword, Judy expertly wielding her like Jen is an extension of her being. Taut, ready to fly like a blow, a perfect arc in the night that seemed to be created just for them. They are Cassiopeia and Andromeda and Perseus—they are the figures in the sky who no longer have anything to lose. Maybe it wasn’t youth or love or anything else Jen thought she was searching for. Maybe this whole time she was just searching for Judy, a rapture in the middle of this illicit darkness.

Hours later, somewhere in the back of Jen’s mind, she knows she has a boyfriend who loves her in the best way he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. And yet… when she’s with Judy, it’s like everything from her previous life disappears. Judy is a honing device, creating a course for Jen’s future if she’s brave enough to follow. Jen thinks she is.

She should tell Judy she loves her because if she doesn’t, she might break into a million little pieces and cut herself on the edges. This is one bloodstain she wants to avoid, one truth she wants to face. She loves Judy, and everything that comes with her. The hippie clothes, the incense, the books on astrology, the laughter, the smiles, the love. Jen wants it all. She turns on her side to look at Judy, wrapped up in the stark, white sheets and laying on her stomach, eyes fluttering closed.

“Judy, I…”

Judy puts a finger on Jen’s mouth, eyes still closed. “Shh, mm sleepy. Tell me in the morning.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a shorter chapter, but the next one will make up for it, i PROMISE. hopefully i can get it done sooner as well. enjoy!!! and as always, comments are much appreciated and i love each and every one of you.
> 
> also, bit of a tw: mentions of suicide

**Irvine, 1997**

Jen wakes up to the morning light streaming through the blinds and an arm across her waist. She can hear Judy’s soft exhalations behind her, warmth radiating under the sheets twisted around them. Jen knows she really loves Judy when she wakes up with it, but doubt is creeping in along with the sun. Last night felt right, but it’s over; reality has a way of showing up the morning after when everything is visible again. Jen has a boyfriend, a Ted, she is supposed to be doing this with. He’s supposed to be the one she wakes up with in the morning, feeling complete.

What the fuck is she supposed to do? Her and Ted leave tomorrow night. Should she give Judy her phone number? Jen isn’t sure if that’s appropriate, considering they just slept together. Giving Judy more than what she already has might be cruel—it would be like giving out a lifeline not attached to anything. Jen can’t offer her anything more. And _dammit_ , she loves Judy, but that’s a punishment neither of them deserve. Telling Judy about the tenderness within her heart is a crime she’s not willing to commit. She can’t tell Judy.

“I can hear you thinking from here.”

Jen’s contemplation is interrupted by Judy’s words and the feeling of a soft kiss being pressed into the back of her neck and Judy’s hand sliding up her stomach, drawing lazy patterns on her skin along the way. Judy’s touch is feather light, causing a chill to run up Jen’s spine at the sensation.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to finish.”

Judy chuckles before replying in mock offense, “I am offended you would think so low of me.”

“So are you going to—”

Jen is cut off by Judy’s lips on hers, reminiscent of last night and somehow new, in the light of this day. They make quick work of untangling the bedsheets and Jen sighs at the feeling of Judy’s body against hers with nothing in between them but sweat and exaltation. It’s glorious to be wanted, and Jen never thought these kinds of feelings were real. But here, in Judy’s arms, nothing has ever felt more real. Judy kisses her neck and roams her hands across her torso, and Jen feels like she could rule the world, she could overthrow every person in her path if Judy never stopped doing what she was doing.

It’s only been one night, but it already feels like they know each other like the back of their hands—the same hands that trail a path of wickedness down each other’s bodies until they reach the softest parts. Judy’s lips feel like religion on her, hands praying as she keeps working Jen up, and Jen feels like her hands are sinning inside Judy. Two sides of a coin that cannot exist without each other, but contradict each other at every turn. When they come together, Jen feels like she’s falling from grace, and no one could blame her for becoming the dark angel in this tale. And there is Judy, face contorted in pleasure above her and looking like archangels. Judy is everything worthy, and Jen is only taking, taking, taking.

They lay on their sides after, facing each other. Jen can’t help but follow the lines on Judy’s face, carved out of something so very close to perfection. It’s impossible to relieve the paradox going on inside Jen’s body—how could she ever coalesce the parts of her that want to run far away from the way Judy makes her feel and the parts that want to never leave this bed and the light illuminating them. Words are bubbling up inside her and Jen is afraid of what’s going to come out; she’s on a precipice she’s not sure she can fall from, an edge with no light on the other side.

“Judy, I…” She trails off, close to ruining both of their lives forever.

“What?” And Judy looks so innocent, so unaware of the war raging right in front of her.

Jen can only settle, it’s the thing she’s been doing her entire life. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad I met you, too.” Judy smiles, and Jen has never felt so undeserving, so guilty of a wrong she hasn’t even done. If she’s not careful, she will do it anyway.

Jen always thought love was supposed to hurt a little bit, and this is where the hurting plays its part. Her heart feels like it’s breaking wide open and the only one who can put it back together is Judy, but Judy doesn’t even know it’s in pieces. Jen thinks she might be walking around with this ache in her heart for the rest of her life, wherever she goes. This is something that will be branded on her forever, a mark that no one else will ever see. There is no good ending to this story, Jen has already read the end of it. She will leave and probably never see Judy again, and it’s a fate that has already been written. Jen can’t change it, no matter how much she wants to. This is where it all ends, the only good thing that Jen has ever been grateful for. The only thing she has ever whispered prays about in hopes of getting to keep it forever. It, Judy. She wants Judy forever, and she knows her prayers won’t be answered.

Judy drives away as Jen opens the front door to Lorna’s house and it feels like her body is preventing her from entering, compelled to follow the tires speeding down the street, creating a path Jen cannot follow. Jen’s never had any real sense of _home_ , but there’s always been one she can go back to. But now it feels like the definition is changing, like her center of gravity is slowly shifting to someone with wind in her hair and life in her eyes. The center of her has become a woman with goodness in her heart and wonder in her hands. Jen never really believed in someone being your other half, but Judy could very easily be the flame Jen has been relentlessly looking for.

“Oh, you’re back.”

Jen quickly turns from staring at the fading bumper of Judy’s existence and turns to see Ted standing in the entryway.

“Yeah, I’m a little later than I originally said. Traffic.”

“I’m just glad you’re here, I missed you.”

He pulls her in for a hug she didn’t expect, and Jen feels like she’s acting on autopilot as she brings her arms up to wrap around Ted. This is where she becomes his again, but so many thoughts are tumbling around in her head, so many neural pathways screaming at her to leave Ted’s embrace and run as fast as she can until she catches up with the home she’s already missing.

“Me too,” and Jen hopes it doesn’t sound like the lie it is.

Ted holds her a little tighter, and Jen feels a little sicker. “Are you using a new shampoo?”

“What? Why?”

Ted gets impossibly closer, smelling the top of her head as his brows furrow. “You smell like lavender. You’ve never smelt like that before.”

Jen shoots him a tight smile she prays isn’t the grimace it feels like. “Must be the one from the motel.”

Ted nods and takes her bag from her before heading upstairs, leaving her alone. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and feels tears spring to her eyes. Lavender is a smell closely ascribed to Judy in every memory Jen has of her, because she knows Judy uses a lavender body wash too expensive for anyone of sound mind. There’s a reason she smells like it, and it’s because she spent the entire morning wrapped up in Judy instead of living the life she has already committed to. Jen smells like lavender, because Judy does. Everything that Jen is feels like it’s because of Judy. They have become an extension of one another in the span of a few weeks, adjacent beings never quite leaving each other’s worlds, and Jen doesn’t think there _can_ be her without Judy. It cuts her like a knife to realize by tomorrow, there will have to be.

Jen has always felt a little bit lost, going through the motions of life whilst everyone else was handed an instruction manual she wasn’t privy to. It’s been frustrating and difficult, but losing Judy is something no manual could ever prepare her for. It will be heartbreaking, it will be tragic, and it will be inescapable. How do you look someone you love in the eyes and say the words you know are going to ruin you both? How do you look at someone you love, and pretend you never loved them at all?

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

Jen pours herself a glass of wine as Alanis Morissette sings about lost love through a pair of headphones—this is the first time she’s had a moment to herself in over twenty-four hours that wasn’t full of murder, Judy, or the boys—and she still can’t seem to fucking relax. She takes a sip of wine, spilling some down the front of her shirt.

“Fucking great…”

She turns towards the counter behind her to grab a paper towel, spotting something silver by the sink. Moving closer, she realizes it’s one of Judy’s bracelets and picks it up as her heart constricts. This is a sign, right? Calling Judy sounds like a bad idea, but this has to be the universe telling her something. God, what has she become? The fucking _universe_. Jen picks up her phone anyways, notices it’s 12:06, and pulls up Judy’s contact. The profile picture assigned to it makes her pause—taken on a day when everything hadn’t gone to shit—Judy and Henry staring back at her as they make a funny face for the camera. If she squints, she can even see Charlie in the background throwing up a peace sign and acting like he’s too cool to make fun of himself.

Jen locks her phone and sets it down on the counter next to Judy’s bracelet. The picture is a firm reminder that things can’t go back to how they were, before the truth came out along with Jen’s homicidal tendencies. She can’t bring herself to call Judy, because that will mean accepting the love that has been building inside her for twenty years, and disregarding the way nothing follows in its wake but pandemonium. No, Jen’s not going to call, but she has this nervous energy bouncing around inside her, the need to _do_ something overwhelming. It usually ends up being unproductive at this time of night, but Jen remembers she still has something to do with Judy on her list of responsibilities, and maybe it can fill up the hollowness she feels about not having the courage to call.

Jen pushes the door to the guesthouse open and is immediately hit with the smell of Judy. It’s a mix of lavender and mint—and Jen can’t figure out what possible combination of products Judy uses to manage that—taking a deep breath to savor the remnants of Judy in her home. Everything else in her life has become ashes and wine, she’s allowed this.

Jen doesn’t really feel like doing this, even though she promised Judy. Bringing over the last of Judy’s things means getting rid of any trace of her from Jen’s life and she hates the idea of, once again, running away from Judy. It’s borne out of duty to a husband she is no longer devoted to, but hit with the realization that he too—like everything else—was a lie. Ted’s justice has been found in the form of someone who could probably be classified as the one great love of Jen’s life, and she laughs to herself at the absurdity of it all. An ironic twist of fate. Whatever entity rules the universe must have it out for her, because it’s unbelievable how fucked up her life has become.

How is she supposed to reconcile any of this—what kind of silver lining can be found? Judy was more than silver, she was as golden as they come, but Jen gave it up. Obligatory purgatory, a sentence to suffer through for the rest of her days. She loves Judy, so fucking much, but it can’t happen. Their combined body count is two more than enough. So much of Jen hurts, and she just wants Judy to come wash it all away—throw out the water full of her offenses and let it grow something new. She should’ve savored their last kiss right before goodbye, wishing she could take that feeling and lock it in a box to keep under her bed for when she’s feeling the things she has been forced to lose. Their love must be transcendent, if it’s crossing these kinds of boundaries like murder isn’t the number one red flag. It must live on its own, never permeated or intruded on by anything that can destroy it. 

Jen considers giving up and letting Judy come back but rids the idea from her mind, because she knows Judy would just fall right back into orbit. They have always been something like a planetary system, constantly revolving around each other until something comes along and annihilates them. Jen deserves the annihilation—deserves the supernova and the black hole that resides at the epicenter of her—but she does not deserve Judy.

She can’t do it. She can’t let Judy come back. They’ve already done too much together, and Jen has given Judy every piece of her left to offer expect one—the one that will never let Judy leave again. The one that will keep Judy by her side for the rest of their days. She’s never been able to classify what they are to each other; they’ve never fit into one box of predisposed ideals and labels, but it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted between her and Judy though—a firm label to tell the world what they are to each other, because then Jen would know what they are too. Jen would be lying if she said she didn’t secretly hope it would end up being farther from friends and closer to something like soulmates—a red string is the only possible explanation for the way her and Judy always manage to tie themselves up in a knot they don’t know how to extract themselves from.

Jen drains the last of the wine before picking up a few shirts off the floor, quietly relieved she decided against burning Judy’s things. Ire is conducive, but she already killed Steve. Fair’s fair, and burning Judy’s belongings might just be putting salt in the wound at this point. Jen spots a bag in the corner she can stuff Judy’s things into—packing is the bane of her existence—but a letter precariously falls out when she grabs it. Curious, Jen turns it over and sees her name scrawled across the front in Judy’s handwriting, elegant like its creator. This isn’t the bag Judy brought when they went to Angeles Forest and she doesn’t think she’s seen Judy use it since before the… _confession_ , so Jen assumes it was written before their lives came dangerously close to ending. She rips it open anyways, interest piqued, and it has her fucking name on it so it’s not even an invasion of privacy.

_Dear Jen,_

_I know you probably don’t want to have anything to do with me right now, including this letter, and I don’t blame you. I hope you read it, even though I know you probably won’t, just so you might realize just how sorry I am about all of this. I am so, so sorry. You’re most likely tired of hearing me say it, but I will say it over and over again if there’s any chance you might eventually believe me. That night was one of the worst nights of my life, and there has never been anything I wish for more than the opportunity to go back and change what happened. Then you could still have a husband, and Charlie and Henry could still have a father. I wish for that more than anything._

_I’m also sorry our justice system is so messed up that even you telling the police about my confession wasn’t enough to finally get the justice you deserve. The justice you, Ted, and the boys deserve more than anything. The justice you all deserve for the crime I committed. I originally thought to turn myself in, but I came to the conclusion there’s only one way to make you feel better about everything, and it’s not prison. There’s only one way I know I can make this up to you. I’m going to make everything better. It will all be okay, I promise._

_Please just know that I love you. So much. I am forever indebted to you for the time we’ve spent together, when we were younger, and now. Especially now. I am grateful, probably more than you will ever know, that you were so willing to share your life with me again, even after what happened between us all those years ago. You gave me a home, you gave me a family, and that’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted in this life. Thank you for giving me just a fraction of what it’s like, a little taste._

_I promise that you will never have to deal with me again after this. I won’t be able to hurt you any more than I already have. You told me what you wanted, and it’s only fair. I ruined your life and I deserve this. I’m sorry. I love you._

_Yours since 1997,_

_Judy Hale_

Jen feels her breath hitch and blood run cold, every nerve ending in her body detonating at the same time. “Oh, Judy.”

No, no, no, no, _no_ —


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! last chapter! hopefully you like it because I do! and if there is enough consensus, i might just post the epilogue i have partially written :)

**Laguna Beach, 1997**

“Judy called this morning.”

Jen looks up at Ted from her bowl of cereal, “Oh. What did she want?”

He isn’t looking at her, staring at the wanted ads in the newspaper instead, probably scoping for a gigs he’ll never play. “She asked if you had time to say goodbye before we left tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

When Jen doesn’t move, just keeps eating her cereal, Ted finally looks over at her. “Are you going to call her back?”

Jen is staring intently at the marshmallows floating in her bowl like they’re going to give her the answers to all these fucking questions. “Maybe later.”

Ted nods, satisfied by her noncommittal answer, and Jen feels nauseous. Judy makes her feel uninhibited, but Jen is supposed to be with Ted. All of these feelings she has are supposed to be attached to the person in front of her, but instead they’re glued to someone ten minutes away and farther away than ever. The phrase “stuck between a rock and a hard place” finally makes sense to Jen, because this is impossible. She doesn’t know what the fuck to do because she knows that if she sees Judy today, Jen might never get on her flight back home. She wishes red-eyes were never invented so she didn’t have to make this choice. Part of her wishes she never met Judy so she didn’t have to feel like her heart was scratching its way out of her chest.

After she finishes her cereal, Jen discreetly makes her way to the landline upstairs in the hallway, checking to make sure the coast is clear before dialing Judy’s number. Every dial tone is a waiting game, seeing if Jen will hang up before the call is answered.

“Hello?”

Jen winces, “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi! Thanks for calling me back.”

“Yip, no problem. Ted told me you wanted to see me before we left?”

“Uh, yeah. Is that okay?”

“For sure.”

“Do you want to come over? I’m free all day.”

“Actually, can you meet me at the beach? The same spot from the night we met?”

Judy agrees and Jen hangs up as quickly as possible without being rude, instantly second guessing her decision to meet Judy at the spot Jen started falling in love with her. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, it’s so obvious; she was enraptured by Judy from the moment they met, and Jen was helpless. Maybe Jen shouldn’t go, maybe she should just ignore this goodbye so she doesn’t have to face her love. But then again… Jen is selfish, and if she can see Judy one last time, she’s going to.

Jen gets to their spot and sees Judy facing the ocean, the slight breeze in the air making her long skirt shift about her. She looks majestic and Jen’s heart constricts. She wants to pause time and hold Judy in this moment forever, never letting go—but everything resumes when Judy turns around and smiles at the sight of her.

“Hey,” Jen says, trying to keep everything she wants to say out of her voice.

“Hey yourself, how are you?”

“I’m good.”

Judy hesitates, eyes flitting back and forth between Jen’s own. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“Just good? Aren’t you excited to go back home?”

Jen feels horrible because she expected Judy to say something along the lines of _we fucked three times and you can’t even tell me how you’re feeling_? But of course Judy is only thinking about Jen; she’s selfless, always putting others first, and Jen knows she has never done anything in her life to earn that kind of affection. She only gets the empty kind, the half-hearted kind, the kind that picks and chooses when it wants to love her.

“I guess. The city is going to be kind of boring compared to Lilith Fair.”

“Lilith Fair is more thrilling than New York City? God, you really are a Jo.”

They laugh together, and for a second it feels like everything is going to be okay. Jen feels like maybe they can just stay here in this moment forever and never leave, like the way a photograph captures memories you always forget. This breathless sort of warmth, this ceaseless grace, it’s all Jen has ever wanted. A particularly big wave crashes just then, and Jen is forced back into reality—the one where she can’t love Judy, the one where she has to leave.

But then Judy is looking at her like _that_ , like Jen is all she’s ever searched for in this world. Unfathomable is the only way Jen describe the gentleness within Judy’s eyes; it’s something Jen never associated with herself before. Judy smiles softly then, like they aren’t parting for a possible forever. “Are you sure you can’t stay for just a _little_ bit longer? I really like you, Jen.”

Jen knows Judy is teasing and trying to lighten the mood, but she needs to crush it. She needs Judy to hate her so the temptation of never leaving is taken away from her. “I don’t love you, Judy. I love _Ted_ , and I’m going home with him. Whatever happened between us was just a one-time thing, don’t make it more than what it was.”

Judy deflates a little, like her insides are shriveling up at the words. “Okay. I understand.”

Suddenly Jen remembers reading _Hamlet_ in high school, how she was disgusted by Ophelia’s weakness to just lay waste in the river of everyone’s sins—but she thinks she understands it now. Jen would rather step into the ocean taking up space in her peripheral and never return than face the pain she is inflicting on Judy right now. This is a defeat Jen cannot come back from; she wanted Judy to hate her so Jen didn’t have to love her, to make it easier to leave, but this is the one time Jen didn’t want to succeed. The look in Judy’s eyes tell her she did though, a little hatred and dejection reflecting back at her.

“Goodbye, Judy.”

Jen quickly starts walking away, unable to stay for Judy’s response. The tears in her eyes she was trying to keep at bay are tumbling freely now, and it’s a catharsis Jen wants to fall back from. Every step that takes her farther away from where she left Judy is stabbing, and wounds she doesn’t think she will ever recover from. Grief is second nature to Jen at this point, but grieving Judy is something she doesn’t think she’ll ever learn to do.

It’s the quiet sob behind her that gets her, the thing that has Jen turning around and running back until Judy is gathered up in her arms. This is why Jen chose the beach instead of Judy’s apartment, because if Jen was so enveloped up in all things Judy, she knows without a doubt that she would never leave the universe right in front of her. They stay in their embrace for a few minutes, a mix of love and woe and tears. Jen pulls back and holds Judy’s face between her hands, savoring the last droplets of summer in the eyes staring back at her. Judy won’t do it, she respects Jen’s boundaries too much, so it’s Jen that presses their lips together for the last time—a soft juxtaposition to their hug just moments before. It’s _I love you_ and _please stay_ and _goodbye_ all in one, and a kiss that will never leave their lips.

“Don’t go forgetting about me, Judy Hale. Okay?”

Judy smiles but her eyes betray her—there’s a sorrow waiting to overtake her. “Okay, I promise.”

Jen places on last kiss on Judy’s cheek, lingering just a moment too long. She turns around again, wipes the tears from her face, and feels more streaming down. For some reason this feels temporary, like this isn’t the last time she will see Judy; it aches to realize it probably will be. Judy will go on to live her life, and Jen will always be sitting quietly, waiting, longing. Jen will only be one paragraph in the book of Judy’s life, but Judy could take up all of Jen’s pages and more. Nothing, no one, has ever made Jen feel so _full_. She is filled to the brim with Judy, not quite sizzling over; they don’t have enough time for Jen to completely fall apart. They don’t have enough time for Jen to fully bask in the feeling of what it’s like to live a life you could only ever imagine.

Maybe heartbreak will just always be second nature to Jen, a friend she knows will be there in the middle of the night when she is yelling about all of the things she has ever had to say goodbye to. Maybe she will scream it on the subway during the lunch hour, surrounded by strangers and with her headphones on so she doesn’t have to hear the way people whisper, _There goes that Jen Harding, poor girl._ Maybe she will whisper it to the priest during confession inside the same church she grew up around the corner from, asking him if he recognizes the little girl inside of her. Maybe she will live out the rest of her days, always wondering why Judy came into her life so perfectly and left excruciatingly. This might just be the penance Jen deserves.

That night, Ted sneaks into her bedroom and slides into bed next to her. She tenses for a second, but relaxes when he innocently pulls her closer. The entire time she was loving Judy, she forgot to wonder if she ever loved Ted at all. Jen isn’t sure, but she thinks she could learn to; they could find a way to live in static consolation if they really tried. Jen makes a promise to herself that she _will_ try, she owes it to Ted. It’s not his fault Judy is the epitome of all the things Jen never knew she craved, all the murmured secrets her brain speaks long after she’s asleep. She will grow to love Ted the way he warrants, and Judy will enter the subliminal space in the back of her mind—a message constantly flitting across her eyes that she will never notice. Judy will retreat into the back recesses of her mind and Jen will continue to survive, no matter how much she wants to live.

**Laguna Beach, 2018**

Jen rushes into Judy’s work, still dressed in her t-shirt and sweatpants. Judy’s letter sent her into a panic—she just threw on a robe and called it good—and Jen can only hope Judy is still here, still alive. Jen has never felt a panic rise in her like this, not since three cops showed up at her door the morning after Ted was hit, and it’s threatening to snap her in two. She didn’t know love could be so terrifying—but then again, Judy has always instilled a little fear in her. A fear of the unknown, a fear of losing, a fear of letting yourself become completely overrun with love.

The receptionist looks up when she walks over, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Visiting hours are over.”

Jen ignores their question, anxiety making her restless and fidget her hands. “I’m looking for Judy Hale. Is she here?”

“Oh, I think she’s staying in room 140 tonight.”

“Great, thank you.” Jen heaves out a sigh of relief, taking this as a sign that Judy is well and alive, and starts walking towards the area where the rooms are located, unable to wait a second longer.

“Ma’am, you’re still not allowed back there after hours—”

“Suck my fucking dick,” Jen yells back, already rounding the corner. It takes her a few minutes of guessing and retracing her steps, but she finally manages to find Judy’s room. Jen didn’t really think about what she would say once she got here, but it’s too late to worry about it now, so she knocks on the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet while she waits for Judy to open it. When she does, shock flits across her face.

“Jen? What are you doing here?”

Jen doesn’t answer right away, just pushes past Judy and makes her way into the room while Judy closes the door behind her. Jen holds up the letter, letting her wrath take over so she can start this conversation without crying. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

Judy winces, shame settling on her features. “God, I’m so sorry. I wrote that before… everything with Steve. It was stupid, I should’ve thrown it out—”

“Judy,” Jen cuts her off, “were you really planning on killing yourself?” Jen’s anger is gone now, replaced with dread and worry. She can’t be mad at Judy for this, because if she’s really being honest with herself, she’s fucking terrified.

Judy nods slowly, “I’m sorry. You were just so angry and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“God, Judy. Why are _you_ apologizing? I’m the one who should be sorry here, and I _am_. I am so fucking sorry. I never should have said it, you didn’t deserve that.”

Judy steps closer, concern taking over her face. “You had every right to say what you did. You have every right to be furious with me.”

“And you have every right to be furious with me, but you still didn’t tell me to go off myself.”

“That’s different—"

“Judy, stop thinking about me for two fucking seconds, _please_. I never should have said that. It’s not different, I hurt you too. And I am so, so sorry.”

“You did hurt me, a lot, but I think I forgave you a while ago. I was really angry and upset when I found out what you did to Steve,” Jen grimaces and takes a step back, but Judy closes in, “and yet, I couldn’t stay angry at you. I know why you did what you did. I don’t blame you, and I don’t hold it against you. How could I, when I’ve done the same thing? You are _not_ a bad person, and there is just something about you, Jen Harding, that keeps making me love you.”

“No, Judy. I’ve hurt you _too_ much.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we were younger, and now. All I do is hurt you and ruin literally everything.”

“It’s okay, Jen. That was a long time ago, and we were kids.” Judy is right next to Jen now, hands on her shoulders. Jen’s first instinct is to flinch away, deny the comfort, but Judy always managed to pull her in.

“No, it’s _not_ okay. You have no idea how much I regret leaving you.”

“And you have no idea how much I regret not asking you to stay. But we were leading different lives, Jen. You had a home, and school, and a boyfriend. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Maybe not, but Jude. I would be fucking _devastated_ if I lost you. Don’t ever scare me like that. I can’t lose you, too. Not again.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Will you please stop saying sorry—"

“—let me _finish_. I’m sorry I scared you like that. I don’t want to die, but it was the only thing I thought was going to make everything better. There were so many awful things happening, and I was in a really bad place. But Jen, I _promise_ you, you won’t have to lose me if you don’t want to.”

“Do you actually promise?”

“ _Yes_.”

Jen hauls Judy into her arms and it feels like something is finally slotting into place—like _this_ was the last piece of their puzzle. She pulls back and holds Judy’s face between her hands, wiping away some of the tears that have fallen down her cheeks. “I love you, so much. Too much, maybe.”

Judy laughs softly, leaning into Jen’s palm. “I love you, too. Definitely too much.”

“I want you to come home.”

“Really? I thought you were for sure done with me—”

Jen cuts her off with a kiss, knowing this is one of the only full proof ways to shut Judy up. Jen parts her lips and Judy immediately deepens the kiss, pulling Jen as close as she possibly can. This feels right, being here with Judy. Jen struggled with it for so long, wondering if loving Judy made her a bad person. Now she knows that loving Judy could only ever be a good thing, that Judy makes her better person. She makes Jen softer, sanding away the rougher edges of her exterior until there’s more bark than bite. They couldn’t be more different, but Jen thinks maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. They complement each other, like the sun and falling snow or the brightest stars in the middle of a soundless night.

Jen pulls back and takes a deep breath. “Get your things, we’re going home. I’m fucking tired.”

And then Judy smiles, and Jen knows she’s finally made a good decision. This is what should’ve happened all those years ago, when Jen was still scared of letting Judy in all the way. But then again, maybe Judy has always been right there, always in Jen’s heart and just waiting for her to realize it. It seems like Judy set up camp in Jen’s heart from the moment they first met, and never quite left. Just waiting. They still have so much to talk about, but Jen knows it won’t happen right now. Tonight is just for them, and finally feeling okay with the love they have always shared.

Judy plays “Thank You” by Dido in the car on the way back to the house, and Jen knows it’s on purpose. She’s still humming it, when they slip under the covers in Jen’s bedroom and Jen pulls her close. This is it, this is what Jen has been waiting for her since the moment her and Judy met, all those years ago, when Lilith Fair was still a thing and weed was still illegal. All along, she’s been yearning for the quiet love, one wrapped up in domesticity and comfort. The love you can come home to, the one that will always be waiting for you to arrive. Jen thinks now might be better than ever before.

And maybe Jen was never Orion’s sword with Judy as her better half; maybe they were always Corvus and Crater, two parts to make up one whole. They will both be gone one day, but maybe they will forever live in the sky, immortalized in light and surrounded by dark that never dare touch them. Jen isn’t in to all that woo woo shit, but she thinks that sounds kind of nice. She would enjoy an infinity next to Judy’s side, especially if Judy never stops making her fall apart under her touch, only to bring her back together again. Stars may be lightyears away, reflecting back a moment in time that lived thousands of years ago, but Judy is right here—in front of Jen, and looking oh so beautiful as she gasps and pants and moans. It’s sublime, the fact that they are still here, still together, and ready to face the light of new days. The future doesn’t seem so daunting to Jen anymore, now that Judy will be there to hold her hand through it all.

Later, when Judy pulls her closer in her sleep, wrapping her arm around Jen’s waist and burrowing into her shoulder, Jen knows. Now is so much fucking better than before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes it's finally the epilogue!!! short and sweet, enjoy <3

**Laguna Beach, 2020**

“What are your thoughts on marriage?”

They’re on the outdoor couch, Jen laying with her head in Judy’s lap while she reads and Judy sketches. “I think it’s a patriarchal construct that degrades women by turning them into a piece of property to be handed over by their father to their husband-in-waiting.”

Judy smiles a bit after Jen’s answer. “No, Jen. I meant what are your thoughts on marriage with _me_.”

“ _What_?” Jen sits up and marks the page she’s on before setting her book to the side.

Judy raises her eyebrows at Jen’s reaction, slight worry clouding her eyes but still hopeful. “I was just wondering you’ve ever thought about getting married again?”

“Um, well I used to think I was done with all of that. _Now_ , I’m not so sure. Why?”

“I think it would be nice.”

“You think it would be _nice_ , to marry me?”

“Yeah.”

“If this is your idea of a proposal, Judy Hale, I have a few lesbian self-help books I can let you borrow.”

“You never told me you have lesbian self-help books—”

“Jesus, it was a _joke_ —”

“—but I don’t think I need them.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I don’t need help proposing to you,” Judy responds, a confident smile plastered on her face.

Jen scoffs, a challenge in her eyes. “You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

“I don’t think, Jen. I _know_.”

And that’s how it starts. The whole game of Judy trying to trick Jen into thinking she’s proposing at any possible moment and Jen trying to figure out if Judy is faking or not. Sometimes Judy will bend down to tie her shoe, and Jen’s breath will pick up until she realizes Judy is wearing fucking _boots_. Sometimes Judy will bake a dessert and watch as Jen takes every bite, anticipation in her eyes, and Jen will chew extra slow just in case there’s a ring buried somewhere in her slice of cherry pie. Occasionally Judy will even take Jen out on dates, making sure there is something romantic at every turn. Jen would be lying if she said those weren’t the scariest times, because that’s when she can’t tell if Judy was being real or not.

Jen honestly hadn’t thought about marriage until Judy brought it up. Before Judy, she genuinely thought she was done with all of that, but now she likes to lay down and imagine it sometimes; usually while Judy is splashing in the pool with Henry or playing a video game with Charlie. Those are the times she likes to imagine calling Judy her _wife_ best, and imagining the rest of their days surrounded in a blissful domesticity they have somehow both been deprived of thus far. A lot of the time Jen still doesn’t think she deserves it—any of this—but she is slowly learning to be happy without guilt and shame tainting the edges of it.

It’s why she is now constantly on edge, tension coiling her fingers whenever her and Judy have a moment alone—because she knows Judy would never dare propose in front of other people. She wishes Judy would just get it over with already so it’s no longer dragged out, but Judy seems to be enjoying this game they have created. She does have lesbian self-help books and she’s been precariously laying them around the house for Judy to see, but they remain untouched. Jen is honestly at a loss, because she doesn’t like waiting but there is virtually nothing she can do to speed Judy up.

Well, there’s one way. Jen doesn’t know why she never thought of it before, she’s well aware she has control issues. She knows she’s not anxious because she doesn’t know when Judy will finally propose, she’s anxious because it’s taking so long—she doesn’t want to have to wait any longer to marry the woman she loves. She realizes this one night as they are wrapped up in each other, the sheets bunched around their bodies as Judy lies on top of Jen. They are taking their time tonight, filled with all of the passion and none of the urgency. Judy hits a particularly good spot deep inside of Jen and she closes her eyes and arches her back, pleasure curling her toes—she’s so close. Judy bends down and kisses her neck, and Jen opens her eyes. She watches the veins in Judy’s neck as she pulls away and Jen knows—when they lock eyes—she knows. Jen has never felt a love like this and she would be a fucking idiot if she didn’t try and keep this image next to her forever: Judy with a flush all over her body and hair like a halo around her face.

“Will you marry me?”

Judy’s hand falters for a moment before she recovers and keeps working Jen towards her peak. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just looks back at Jen and searches for something in the iridescence of her eyes. Jen figures she must have found what she was looking for because a few moments later she whispers _Yes_ , thrusts one last time, and Jen is coming, coming, coming. Color bursts behind her eyes and a warmth fills her chest as Judy holds her close, helping her ride it out. Jen is lost in bliss for a little bit, but it’s with the knowledge that the reality on the other side is just as good. She comes back to herself, and Judy is still laying on top of her, a soft look in her eyes.

“Was that you or the orgasm proposing?”

Jen frowns, “What?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it. Did you?”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

“You’re not mad?”

Judy’s eyes furrow in the way Jen adores, a small pout on her face. “Why would I be mad?”

Jen glances away and draws patterns on Judy’s arms, suddenly nervous. “I just know you wanted to do it and I guess I just don’t want you to be mad that I did it first.”

“Jen. Look at me.”

Jen sighs and makes a show of rolling her eyes before finally settling back on Judy’s gaze. It’s warm, so full of light in the middle of their darkened bedroom. “What?” And it comes out as a whisper.

“I tricked you.”

Jen pauses for a second, trying to comprehend Judy’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t actually care about who proposed to who, but I know you have control issues. So I tricked you.”

“You think you know me so fucking well,” Jen says, eyes narrowing.

Judy narrows her eyes too, unsure what game Jen is playing. “I think I just proved that I do. _And_ I didn’t even need to read those self-help books—” Judy is cut off as Jen grabs her waist and flips their positions, a squeal slipping past her lips. Their bed soon becomes a mess of limbs and sheets and laughter, the night filled up by the loved exuding from their bodies. It’s the kind of love that fills up rooms, tumbling into all the little cracks that have been left bare—a love that sounds like a silent scream. They wrestle, but Judy ends up back on top of Jen with a _humph_ from both of them. The laughter settles and Jen can’t help but smile at the lines adorning Judy’s face.

“How do you feel about ‘Building a Mystery’ as our first dance song?”

“Not ‘Angel?’”

Judy rolls her eyes at the joke, “No, because that’s not the song that was playing when I realized I was in love with you.”

Jen pauses, only finding the genuineness with which Judy is watching at her. “That was so long ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Jen brings her hand up to Judy’s face then, tracing the smile lines on her cheeks and around her eyes. “Your eyes are still amber in the sun.”

“When did you become such a big softie, Jennifer Harding?” Tears are forming in Judy’s eyes but Jen knows they’ll be okay. These tears are happy, and Jen is too.

“When I realized amber was my favorite color.”

Judy doesn’t say anything else, just pulls Jen close and buries her face in her neck. Jen wraps her around Judy’s shoulders, savoring the heat radiating from her.

**Author's Note:**

> @jensblazerhoard on twitter.


End file.
